Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Miles, you need to get to the sanctuary—now .”

It’s 4 in the morning. Miles is groggy, half asleep as he juggles the phone against his ear and shoulder blade, attempting to put on socks while hopping to the bathroom. Wrong sock on the wrong foot, crap , and they're mismatched too. Fuck .

“Woah, Gwen, hold up,” Miles breathes, attempting to catch his breath. “What’s up?” He’s rushing, forgoing everything despite not knowing the exact details, knowing Gwen wouldn't call him at this hour unless it was absolutely crucial.

“They found one,” she says vaguely, pausing on the other end. Miles' breath hitches. He wants to chew something. His lips. His fingernails. Anything.

“A siren.”

And boy, was it crucial.

Miles Morales, marine biologist and conservation specialist currently working at the Alchemax Sanctuary and laboratory of science. He’s young, the youngest in his team at 23 years old to be exact, birthday celebration done last month too, a small domestic thing. 

That’s how Miles liked things. Small and domestic. Controlled. Tranquil. Except for when it came to the sea. His love for the ocean was wild, cathartic, and vast. The ocean grappled him like a hook, pun intended, and ever since he was a young child barely able to form proper sentences, he knew the ocean was his entire world, down to the last grain of salt. Miles was taken to his very first aquarium at the ripe age of 6 and he’s never looked back since.

“Peter, I need details,” Miles says in lieu of a greeting once he arrives at the sanctuary, shrugging off his jacket as they head over to the changing room.

“Well,” Peter B. Parker, head of the marine biologist team, begins in his raspy, morning tone, already fitted in his wetsuit. “Mayday finally learned another word the other day other than ‘mama’, it being ‘no’, she says it a lot, ” he sputters, morning coffee in one hand, report sheets in the other as he follows Miles into the changing area. “I would’ve preferred ‘dadda’ first, but y’know, beggars can’t be choosers.”

Miles stares at his superior slash best friend for a solid second.

“What?” Peter blinks. Cheeky bastard.

“The siren, man!” Miles quips, plastering his wetsuit on like a second skin, adding layers upon layers of clothing, plus a waterproof jacket because shits cold out right now. “Details on the siren!”

“Right, right, well, it’s a possible siren sighting,” he says between air quotations, “not sure yet, Peni is out there trying to find it again.”

“Find it? She lost it?”

“It’s a siren, kid, whaddya expect? Those things are quick and agile, they aren't exactly your friendly neighborhood sea star. More of a myth if you ask me.”

That’s right. It’s been nearly 6 decades since the last siren sighting, if it could even be called a sighting at all. The mangled corpse of what looked to be a siren washed up on the coastal shores of Alaska one day, like a bottled letter with its ink washed away. The findings were paraded like the second coming of Christ. It was definitely something to be seen.

Outside, Miles inhales brisk cold air that sets his lungs aflame. It’s dark. Adrenaline coursing through his veins as he and Parker jog along the pavement towards a dive boat. Gwen is already there, grinning from ear to ear.

“Took you guppies long enough, been waiting for hours,” she chides, good-naturedly, all jumbled nerves and excitement. “We could be missing the event of our lives! A siren! A real-life siren!” She shakes Miles’ shoulder.

“Only took me like 15 minutes, come on,” Miles defends, not knowing what else to do with his hands, fiddling with his equipment. The event of our lives, huh.

A siren.

A real-life siren.

Miles couldn’t lie and say he wasn’t excited. No, in fact, he’s beside himself right now. Nerves and anticipation built up inside him like a spring. If this really is a siren, the shift this could cause to their research would be tectonical, the likes of which they’ve never seen since the discovery of mermaids 70 plus years ago.

Mermaids are common knowledge by this point, studied extensively by both marine biologists and the public eye after years of conserving them. They were thought to be extinct at one point until a pod was discovered in the late 1950s around the Gulf of Mexico. Thanks to the conservation effort, their population has risen and flourished, and it’s the reason Miles joined this specific branch in his field, so that he may work closely with them.

Sirens, on the other hand, are still treated as myths and fodder for horror stories enforced by sailors and movie writers. The negative connotation the name holds is infamous and widespread, enchanting the masses. To a marine biologist, however, the possibility of their existence is openly accepted, albeit heavily debated. Mermaids exist so why not sirens? Problem is, no one who's seen one has lived to tell the tale, and anyone who claimed to have seen one, could ever provide evidence of their existence.

Until now, maybe.

A siren’s reclusiveness and scarcity is partially due to their suspected habitat. Unlike mermaids, who live near the surface of the ocean and in much warmer climates, sirens were suspected to live in the cold, dark abyss of the ocean’s Abyssopelagic Zone, at depths of about 4000 to 6000 meters.

Sirens are thought to be apex predators of the deep sea, competing with giant squid and theorized to dive further than sperm whales. Consequently, they’ve kept away from the surface and effectively away from humans, with only horror stories keeping their legend alive.

They’ll eat your heart out.

They’ll drown you with their song.

They’re faster than Marley

More dangerous than sharks.

Uglier than Anglerfish.

Prettier than mermaids.

The list goes on and on.

Miles listens to every story with a grain of salt and a dash of amusement. Most are embellished recounts of words-of-mouth that he thinks are entertaining, if not a little bizarre, but deep down he knows the stories are just that—stories and sirens were probably misunderstood creatures. He came to that realization about most wild life early on in his life, after watching a shark documentary. If sharks were misunderstood by the masses, sirens were probably also…

“Miles!”

“Huh? What? I’m listening.” Miles blinks, his back straightening as the crashing of waves and roaring of the wind muffles his ears.

“I said how much further till we reach Peni? You got the GPS, kid,” Peter chuckles, noticing the sparkles in Miles' eyes. They all had sparkles actually.

“Right, yeah, the GPS, uh—“ He looks at the damn thing. “‘Bout 4 kilometers, give or take.”

Peter nods, looking forward. Nothing else is said. Nerves and intrigue taking over their senses. Dawn creeps up slowly, giving the waters a murky glow. Already there's sea life moving, local dolphins greeting them with high jumps of their flukes. Miles smiles at them. They’re excited too.

“You guys! You guys youguysyouguysyouguys!” Peni all but jumps when they reach her and her team on the coastal shore. “You won’t believe what I saw!”

“Where is it?” Miles rushes to her, gripping her shoulders as she does a little happy dance.

“Around this general area, we kinda lost it in the dark, te-he, but wholly crap—it’s so BIG! Hopefully it won’t be hard to find now that it's daytime!”

“How’d you manage to lose it, Pen?” Gwen shakes her head. “An honest to God siren and you lost it!”

“Sirens are probably experts at hiding, it’s how they managed to stay undetectable for so long,” Peter chimes in, gathering his equipment. “Let’s split up and search the coastal rocks and tide pools, there's a lot of crevices and pits it could’ve swam into. There’s only two reasons a siren would be caught out on the shorelines like this.” Peter raises two fingers. “It’s dying or heavily injured, both aren't ideal, it’s best to find it as quickly as possible and rescue.”

“Two steps ahead of ya,” Miles says, not waiting for anyone else as he gathers up his equipment, which consists of a large net and a catch pole, and heads in the opposite direction. He’s not sure if either item will be of use, but he takes them anyway. His heart rattles in his chest excitedly, like he’s a kid again exploring the coral reefs for the first time.

The coastal shore they are searching in is decorated with jagged rocks and salty tide pools, and Miles is mindful of where he steps. The sun is higher now, adorning every step he takes in his quest. He searches every crevice and every pool he comes across for what feels like hours. No dice. Miles lets out a frustrated sigh.

If the siren is injured, time is of the essence. Miles would hate to find it after it already passed away. All that organic knowledge, gone. Well, part of it, there's always anatomical knowledge and such, but Miles preferred the study of life, not post-mortem.

He resumes his search and doubles his efforts. A hint of a headache forming at the back of his head threatens to consume his very being. He skipped breakfast that morning, but it’s nothing he hasn't endured before, all in the name of oceanic research and conservation, he tells himself. Miles toughs it out because the tide is coming in, covering up many of the smaller tide pools around the area, and soon their search will become infinitely more difficult, if not impossible.

This is bad, Miles chews his lip. Higher tides meant the siren could escape out to sea again, which, normally would be a good thing, but injured? He doesn’t want to risk it.

Stressed, Miles quickens his pace and notices a large cavity up ahead. He leaps over a pair of rocks in his quest to get a better look inside the deep tide pool, and instantly, upon leaping, he knows he’s going to land short of the gap, miscalculating the jump. “Shi—” Miles shrieks, gravity wrenching him back until his spine collides with the cold water with a glass-shattering splash. He gasps, floundering like a fish out of water funnily enough, until he’s able to stand again. Luckily, the water broke most of his fall, shockingly, it's reaching his belly button and steadily rising.

“Crap,” Miles groans, coughing and gathering his bearings when movement to his right catches his attention. Freezing, his heart leaps in his throat, his blood going cold.

There, in the dark corner of the pool are a pair of animalistic, blood-red eyes skewering him from the shadows.

Oh, shit.

The siren.

Chapter Text

Red eyes.

Miles swallows, backing up against the furthest end of the tide pool, flinching when his back meets the jagged rock wall behind him. His heart lurches, bracing himself for whatever comes next—except, nothing happens. The siren does nothing. It sits like a gargoyle, capturing Miles in its feral gaze. Nothing but the crashing of ocean waves fills the air between them, propelling Miles’s heart into overdrive as he observes the creature and—holy shit, it’s massive!

Even curled in on itself its size is imposing. Miles figures it’s about 12 feet (3.658m) long give or take, with jagged and long dorsal spines puffing up from its lower back like a porcupine. The creature's eyes are blown wide, animalistic, pupils compressed into slits, zeroed in on him and his every move like a predator on the hunt. Miles’ stomach twists.

Where are the others? He panics, licking his chapped lips. How did it get stuck in here?

Through the tangle of nerves and adrenaline, Miles notes how…beautiful the siren is, even by human standards, its beauty is almost mystifying. Broad, sculpted shoulders encased in bronze skin, a strong-set jaw framed by high cheekbones that bring out its piercing red eyes, and thick, brown hair curled back, shaping its face nicely.

Miles has never seen such a handsome face.

Honestly, he doesn’t know what he was expecting, but being paralyzed by its beauty alone certainly isn’t one of them. As if sensing his curiosity, the siren opens its mouth, and—holy mother of pearl (is what Peter would say)—Miles is greeted by two sets of sharp, pearly-white fangs aligned by a serrated row of teeth. A low, guttural hiss bellows out of the siren’s lips in warning, reminding Miles of the immediate danger he’s in. Heart racing with new-found fear, he’s faced with the fact that, yes, he’s trapped inside a shallow tide pool with an apex predator of the deep sea, who looks about a hair's width away from tearing him to shreds.

“Easy,” Miles whispers, extending his hands out in a peace offering of sorts, hoping the gentle timber of his voice conveyed his non-threatening intentions. “Easy.”

The siren slithers an inch closer.

Fuck, Miles agonizes. “Easy!” He pleads. 

They’re both trapped in here like caged animals, one deadlier than the other, and even though the fall wasn’t great, the rocks lining the cavity were pitched at an angle, creating a dome-like pit that prevents Miles easy access to the top. Add to that a giant sea siren ready to sink its fangs into his throat, and yeah, Miles might piss himself trying.

His chocolate-brown eyes desperately scour the pool for his net or catching pole, anything he might be able to use as a defense mechanism in case the siren decides to attack. He finds his catch pole in the water and curses when he notices how close it landed to the beast, who, Miles notes, is folding his left arm close to its chest. Vaguely, he wonders if it's injured. It's hard to tell from here since the siren is mostly encapsulated by shadows and seaweed.

Although clearly agitated, the siren seems reluctant to move from underneath its crevice. It hasn't moved much actually, Miles thinks, and wonders if it’s safe to try and climb out of the steep hole. The creature’s gaze is intense and unrelenting. Watching. Observing. Waiting for the perfect moment to pounce.

But I have to try and climb out before it’s too late, Miles frowns, arming himself with valor. The water is steadily rising and soon the beast will have the advantage. With that in mind, Miles takes a big gulp of air, quickly turns, and attempts to climb. Instantly, he regrets his decision as the thunderous sound of water whipping around behind him reaches his ears. The hairs on the back of Miles’ neck stand as the siren lashes its tail in the water, propelling itself towards him like a canon.

“Ack!” Miles chokes on words he cannot fathom. Fight or flight mode triggering as his life flashes before his eyes in quick succession. Without thinking, he yells at the top of his lungs, whipping around and meeting the siren head-on, standing his ground against the beasts.

It's all a ruse. A tactic he’s seen work on large, powerful animals like mooses and bears, and prays it will work on the siren. Luckily, the trick seems to work, for now…because the creature stops short of reaching him, murderous eyes wild but cautious. Miles is terrified, chest heaving, body trembling. His arms are raised, and he’s lucky to be alive right now. It must be because of its injuries, he reels, panting. That’s why it's so cautious.

It’s a standoff.

Oh, shit—oh, fuck—

A standoff he can so easily lose at the slightest movement.

They’re both out in the open now. Extremely close. With the sun cascading down on them like an iron. Miles notes the severe extent of the siren’s injuries. Its torso, chest, and arms are littered with abrasions and lacerations, still red and bleeding. Blood is running down the siren’s face, possibly from its scalp, and there's a chunk of flesh missing from its shoulder. Ouch, Miles flinches, that looks painful.

He moves half an inch to get a better look at its tail and freezes when the siren growls disapprovingly. Their eyes lock, dark brown crashes against deep red, and Miles is captivated yet again, knees buckling underneath him. So handsome.

“Miles!?”

The siren snarls and, with a quick flick of its tail, retreats into the shadows of the pool.

“Oh my fucking God, Miles!” Gwen shouts above him, and Miles clenches his teeth in a grimace, begging her to lower her voice with his hands. Soon, his entire team is surrounding the lip of the cavity, all wide-eyed and slack-jawed.

“That’s the siren!” Peni whispers, amazed. “Miles, you found him! Why’d you go down there, dummy? It could kill you.”

“No shit,” he hisses between grit teeth, unable to break eye contact with the siren out of fear and fascination. “I fell in, and uh—yeah, kinda screwed up…now I’m stuck. Sorta? Not really? It hasn't let me climb out, and I don’t wanna move and find out if it will.”

As if on cue, the siren lets out a jarring hiss.

“Don’t worry, kid, we’ll get you out of there, and holy mother of pearl, things's huge—” Parker says, surveying the situation. “But seriously? Nice going, Miles, major cajones.”

“Not helping.”

“So what's the plan?” Gwen steps in, watching as the siren attempts to back away into the furthest corner of the pool. “How are we going to get the siren on the boat? He’s huge and looks really injured.”

“Poor thing, it’s holding its arm to its chest and its tail looks like it's torn to shreds,” Peny notes.

“He’s injured but he still got a lot of fight in ‘em,” Miles points out, watching the siren curl its massive trunk of a tail around itself like a shield of some kind. He’s obviously extremely agitated and frightened with all these humans surrounding him, on the brink of going into a vicious frenzy if pushed.

“We might have to sedate him.” Peter points out, scratching his stubble. “If he’s defensive we don’t want to risk causing him more stress and harm.”

“Peter,” Miles hisses. “Mind getting me outta here first?!”

“Right, Ramirez, can you go get the tranquilizer gun while we get Miles out?” Peter instructs as he kneels right above Miles. “Let's get you out of there before you become siren chow, yeah?” Peter extends both arms, which Miles takes without breaking eye contact with the siren, who perks up at the movement like a tracker. “Easy there, at the count of three, everyone grab Miles and pull as fast as you can,” Parker instructs. The air is taut between them, like a rope. “One…two… three!”

Like a bungee cord, they pull Miles up quickly before the siren can sink its teeth and claws into supple flesh. A powerful flick of its tail propels it forward, cracking the water surface like a bolt of lightning to get to them. Miles nearly drowns on air, falling to his hands and knees once he’s out of danger.

Dios Santo. That was close.

”Christ, kid, you weren’t kidding! He’s got a lot of fight in him despite all those injuries,” Peter exclaims, watching the siren circle the shallow pool like a restless tiger on edge. “That’s pure adrenaline and instinct right there.”

“He’s so pretty!” Peni adds.

“I told you, man, shits scary,” Miles pants, recollecting himself as quickly as possible. Time is of the essence. They can’t afford to waste time. They need to save the siren.

“It’s massive, it’s going to take all of us to lift him out of there,” Gwen observes. “Luckily the tide is coming in so it’ll be more manageable.”

“Look at those spikes, and how pretty its tail is! Such a pretty shade of dark blue and red!” Penny continues to nerd out, high on marine discovery. “It’s got raised spikes like a Lionfish, I wonder if they’re poisonous like one too?”

“Check out its tail, it's got a stinger at the end of it’s flukes like a stingray,” Gwen points out, turning towards Miles. “You’re really lucky he didn't use that on you.”

“Yeah,” Miles unconsciously grabs at his chest, shivering. Lucky.

After a minute or two, Ramirez returns with the tranquilizer gun and hands it to Peter, who says “Well, let's hope this is enough to do the job. Never tranquilized a siren before. I wonder if it’s enough? Thing’s huge.”

They all glance at each other, then at the agitated creature below.

“Well, only one way to find out,” Peter finishes, aiming the weapon.

As if sensing the attack, the siren retreats into the crevice, obscured by jagged rocks, making it difficult for Peter to get a good angle for a dart. He can't afford to miss. “Dammit, can’t get a good angle like that. Someone use a catch pole and nudge him lightly, we gotta coax him out.”

“Is that a good idea?” Peni squeaks, watching the siren puff up like a cat. “He’s already so stressed.”

“The quicker the better, the more we wait the more damage he will do to himself.”

Miles scoops up a catch pole and practically races over to the opposite side without a second thought. Crouching low to the ground, practically on his stomach, he carefully extends the pole towards the siren, who growls and hisses like a cornered animal. Its eyes are overcharged with anxiety. Its spikes and claws puff out, baring its fangs for everyone to see.

“Holy—those are some chompers,” Gwen exclaims as the siren’s deep growl reverberates through the water, much like a bellowing alligator.

“Woah!” Peni gasps. “Wicked sound.”

“Come on, Miles, a little more,” Peter says.

“I’m trying!”

Sorry, buddy, Miles thinks before nudging the beast with the end, making it flinch and trash wildly, flinging water everywhere as it clamps down on the pole with its teeth and claws. Miles yelps, nearly falling into the pool once again as the siren yanks the tool down and begins attacking it violently. Miles is terrified. That could have been him.

The siren continues its frenzie, ripping the pole to shreds as easily as a knife through butter. Luckily, it’s come out of its little hidey-hole, enough for Peter to aim and shoot, hitting the siren right on its upper back. It writhes violently, its powerful tail flicking in and out of the water like a wrecking ball, growling and snarling. Miles feels bad for the poor thing. It probably thinks it’s going to be killed, he couldn’t possibly know they are there to help him.

Come on, he pleads, sweat dotting his forehead despite the frigid temperatures. Let us help you. Let us understand you!

As if hearing his thoughts, the siren snaps its head towards Miles, glaring, as if to say—You did this! Miles' stomach drops at the accusatory snarl. His senses flare. He knows a death glare when he sees one, and that's one. Practically dismembering him with his eyes. Miles can only hope the siren doesn’t hold a grudge against him over this.

Fifteen minutes pass and nothing changes. The siren is still agitated and circling the pool like it wasn’t even hit with a tranquilizer dart.

“Well, we might have to hit it with another dart,” Peter suggests, standing and running a hand through his hair, wary.

“What if another dart kills it?” Peni stands, concerned.

“It’s a risk but the tide is rising quickly and if we don’t sedate him now, there's no telling what will happen once he can swim out again. We need to get him under control now,” Peter says.

Things are serious now. Not like they weren’t before but now it's life or death. Peter understands this. He isn't joking around anymore. Tone heavy and concentrated like the leader he is. Miles inhales, trying to calm his nerves. He will never get used to this part of his job, watching a creature wither in fear and their survival instinct. It’s jarring. He glances down at the siren who is watching them with a scowl, snarls when he notices Miles watching. Its teeth are bared, sharp fangs protruding dangerously. Impressively. Those could easily kill in a single bite. They couldn’t risk letting the water rise any higher.

They can’t lose him.

“I’m with Peter on this one,” Miles speaks up. “We gotta get him to safety.”

“Yeah, the benefit outweighs the risk,” Gwen adds.

Peni frowns, but ultimately nods, trusting her team's abilities and decision-making as Peter loads another dart.

“Alright, let's hope this one does the trick. Come on big guy, we just wanna help,” Peter says, before shutting one eye and aiming.

The gun fires. Loud and cracking the air around them. Miles flinches as the dart meets its target with precision. The dosing is strong, white-shark-level-knockout strong.

It had to do the trick.

After the initial shock and five minutes of more violent thrashing, the siren slowly mellows out, its eyes rolling back, its body curling in on itself before floating limply in the water. Miles nudges his side with another capture pole just to make sure it was safe to dive in before the team descends on the creature and gently lifts him towards the boat, careful to not jostle his injured arm. He’s still alive, they note, and they speed towards the sanctuary after they’ve secured him to the vessel, all the while splashing water on the siren's body to keep its skin moist.

Miles licks his lips, adrenaline coursing through his veins like an aftershock as he observes the creature. He marvels at the sight, taking his time to examine every detail now that he’s unconscious. It’s awe-inspiring how intimidating and strong the siren looks despite being heavily sedated. It's large. The entirety of its tail doesn’t even fit in the boat, having to curl against its body, careful to not touch the spines. The spines are a whole ‘nother issue. They look venomous, and nobody wants to risk finding out just yet.

The wind tousles the siren's dark hair, tickling his cheeks and eyelashes. Out in the open, Miles can study him unabated, from the powerful trunk of its blue and red tail to his rugged, glassy-looking skin bulging with raw muscle. Dude was huge. Bodybuilder huge. He’s never seen a mermaid ever reach this muscular build before, and the sight is a little—a lot intimidating.

What a tank, he agonizes. Tracing every detail of its face with appraising eyes. Full set of lips, strong jaw, sculpted nose, it’s almost embarrassing how handsome (Why Miles? Why?) he is.

Carefully, Miles touches its hair, earning a curious glance from Gwen who raises her brow. Fuck it. Miles is curious by nature, it’s what got him the job in the first place. So he touches, feeling the siren’s silky smooth hair, curling a little at the edges where it's drying.

Alright, he’s convinced this is one of the most beautiful, most jaw-dropping creatures he’s ever had the pleasure of studying, and the coils of intrigue and fascination twist in his chest. He can’t wait to learn more about him.

“Beauty, ain't he?” Peter yells over the engine and waves, smiling. Miles nods, tearing his eyes away for a second. They’ve finally arrived. The sanctuary. Time to assess the damage.

Miles prays the siren makes it.

Chapter Text

Three broken ribs.

One broken humerus bone (left arm).

Multiple lacerations throughout upper and lower body.

Bitten-off chunk of trapezius shoulder muscle.

Damaged left fluke.

Muscular tissue damage.

And to top everything off with a little red bow, a damaged dorsal fin. Most of the sirens' injuries are non-life-threatening, thank God, but still…

Miles wants to crawl out of his skin.

All those injuries, all that hurting, and still the siren took two—two tranquilizer darts to be put to sleep. Miles can’t imagine the pain the siren must have been in the entire time. The fear, the pain, and the anguish all working around the clock for God knows how many days until they found him beached. The siren fought tooth and nail to the end, on his last stretch of adrenaline and instinct, probably believing he was about to be killed if he didn’t fight.

At least you’re safe now, Miles thinks, watching the siren’s unconscious form lay on specialized medical beds, oxygen tubes attached to his mouth and gills, helping him breathe properly through a water reservoir. A pensive crease forms between Miles’ brow. Hours after they examined, stitched up, disinfected, and addressed the siren’s wounds, it begs the question: how did this happen?

These injuries were serious enough to cause the siren to drift far from his domain, and even beach himself on the coast. Apart from the injuries, he looked healthy and young, so it couldn’t be old age. Could it be from another predator? Many of the injuries looked defensive in nature.

“What do you think caused all these injuries?” Miles questions out loud as they finish patching up the slumbering siren, who takes up three medical beds, and a pulley to keep his tail from sagging.

“Dunno,” Petter rubs an eyebrow with his forearm, exhausted. “Might of tousled with a giant squid or shark, those creatures live down in the depths too.”

“Could be a disease we're unaware of too,” Pavitr joins in, trashing his surgical gloves and washing his hands. “Maybe he was getting weaker and a predator jumped on the opportunity? We’re getting blood work sent to the lab so hopefully we can see if anything is wrong, although we have nothing to compare it to.”

“I wish I could go down there and investigate myself. I want to know what caused him so much pain.” Peni pouts, gingerly touching the siren's spine ridges. The non-threatening ones at least. She’s careful with the long dorsal spines. “Pretty sure those are poisonous,” she points at them, “especially that one.” She glances down at the scary-looking barbed stinger at the end of his tail flukes.

“Specimen 2099 is really impressive.” Gwen nods, logging information into the Alchemax tablet. “He’s lucky to be alive, and we’re lucky to have discovered him when we did.”

Specimen 928B-2099, or 2099 for short, is the number identification given to the siren shortly upon arrival. A major facet of their examination deals with identifying injuries, yes, but picking up basic information along the way as well. It's all crucial information, things like gender, species, blood type, among other things play a role in their research and can mean life or death for certain genera.

There is no data to compare their findings to however, and they all feel the weight of such a task fall on their shoulders with honor. 2099 is the first male siren of his kind to ever be discovered and they realize they’re at the cusp of a major historical event.

Much like mermaids were regarded as one of the seven wonders of the world when they were first discovered, 2099 will be a splash of color in an otherwise black-and-white film. He’s revolutionary in his own right.

It’s important that they log every detail they can find, down to the most minute aspect of his being for their sake and the sake of future generations. Sirens were not known yet, not properly at least, and 2099 might not know it, and he may never realize it, but he is helping build the foundation of research for his species. A monumental feat that will hopefully help humans understand them better.

It's an honor, Miles thinks, a privilege that he’s ready to dedicate himself to. And the more they discover about 2099, the more he’s enthralled.

For instance, 2099 isn’t 12 feet long (3.6 m) like Miles first surmised, no, actually the siren measures 14 feet (4.2 m) from head to tail, with a weight of about 650 lbs (294.8 kg). He brandishes retractable claws on each appendage, with slight webbing between each digit. Sharp, pronounced fangs lay inside a muscular jaw full of sharp teeth. A healthy set of pectoral gills located under each rib cage, and another smaller set located just underneath his jawline, close to his ears. Wine-red eyes with dilating pupils shielded by a double lid, or a nictitating membrane (so fucking cool). A strong dorsal fin (like that of a shark’s) followed by four, long and bright red dorsal spines (two on each side), the intense coloring may be due to poisonous capabilities. Two smaller pelvic veil fins, followed by smaller spine and ridge filaments leading to an elongated tail, and finally, two powerful flukes with a barbed stinger at the center.

2099 is… a force to be reckoned with.

Curiously, they wondered if a siren’s reproductive organs are located in the same general area as a mermaid’s, which they are, albeit somewhat lower, and a lot bigger. 2099 has a genital slit near his lower abdomen that gives away to two arrow-head penises which remain tucked underneath the slit. It’s interesting, to say the least, that he’s like a shark in that regard.

They conclude that there are more distinctions between mermaids and sirens than there are similarities. Despite both species being predators of the sea and having human-like features, sirens are more equipped for hunting larger, more dangerous prey. For instance, mermaids do not have the large, retractable talons that are present in 2099’s hands. They also don’t have fangs. A mermaid’s teeth are serrated, but small in comparison and all the same shape. The dorsal spines and barbed stinger are also a key difference, one that makes 2099 a helluva lot more dangerous than its smaller counterpart, which doesn't have any of those things. Their size difference is almost night and day too. 2099 is quadruple the size of a regular mermaid, who is about the size of humans in comparison. But the most notable and unique difference between the two, at least in Miles' opinion, is their blood.

2099’s blood is a lazurite blue.

They’re still unsure if the color variation is due to the same protein found in some invertebrates, such as octopuses and horseshoe crabs, or if it’s a different reason altogether. They hope to get more insight into the reason once the blood work comes back.

All and all, Miles is in awe. He can’t take his eyes off 2099, who is like a work of art to him. The Mona Lisa of the deep sea. In just a single day they were able to learn so much, and the prospect of learning more sets Miles ablaze.

“I hope 2099 keeps the waterproof splint on his arm long enough for it to heal properly,” Gwen starts, rolling her shoulders after hours of grueling work, hair up in a messy ponytail.

“He’s got a spicy personality,” Miles says, exhausted and hungry. Some enchiladas sounded nice right about now. “Might end up doin’ just that.”

“I wonder if 2099’s got a siren song, you know, like the ones mentioned in sailor stories.” Peni brushes some of the siren’s hair out of his face.

That’s right, there are so many questions left unanswered, and so many myths to be debunked or confirmed.

“Let’s get 2099 to his temporary healing tank before he wakes up,” Peter interrupts, cracking his neck. “Can’t risk getting him more traumatized with us humans.”

Easier said than done. It takes an entire team of eight to move and gently set 2099 in his healing tank. By the time they reach the waters, the siren is stirring, eyelids fluttering, tail flicking sluggishly. They lay him in the icy waters and watch as the siren sinks to the bottom, curling in on himself like a giant water serpent.

“What a whopper,” Noir whistles, their lead dolphin and beluga specialist watches as the groggy siren twitches. “You managed to lose this thing, Pen? If it were a snake, it would’ve bit ya.”

“Give me a break, it was dark and he was fast!”

“You should’ve seen how 2099 flung himself at Miles in the tide pool!” Gwen adds, patting Miles’s shoulder, “Reached him in half a second!”

Miles shrugs good-naturedly “I could’ve taken ‘em, easily,” he scoffs.

“Easily, huh?” she ‘pfft’s with her lips. “Sure.”

“Miles, buddy.” Peter comes up behind him and leans a hand around his shoulder. “Let’s be honest, you would’ve been siren chow in under a second,” Peter drawls, chest leaning with it. “Speaking of chow, who's hungry? Why don’t we let Mr. Dracula over there,” he dabs a thumb at the siren, “rest and grab us some food?” Everyone agrees, exhausted by the day's events as they head towards the break room, everyone except Miles, who stands behind, eyeing the tank.

“Miles?” Peter calls out.

“Uhhh—“ Miles blinks as if caught off guard. “I think Imma stay back, yeah, you know, watch 2099 and make sure he’s doing well and stuff.”

“You sure?” Peter raises a brow. “I know you haven’t eaten breakfast or lunch, kid.”

“Ain’t true, I had a quick granola bar before leaving the apartment,” he lies, a little white lie he doesn’t enjoy using but he really doesn’t want to leave the siren alone in case…in case he wakes in a panic, in case something goes wrong, in case he never wakes up at all.

Peter gives him a look, clearly not buying it, but smiles all the same. “I’ll bring you something, how’s that sound?”

“Perfect.”

The room fills with silence. Nothing but Miles and the thick, aquamarine glass separating him and 2099. Miles nears the tank, watches the siren lay there, back facing him, muscles twitching and rippling under thick, scarred skin. The siren hasn't moved an inch, still curled in on himself at the bottom of the tank, facing the wall. What’s he thinking right about now? Miles wonders, fetching a chair and sitting. He waits. Silent. Observant. Unwilling to take his eyes off the powerful creature.

“What happened to you?” He wonders out loud, rubbing his arms in a self-soothing manner.

“It’s crazy,” Miles keeps going, unable to stop, solely for the sake of his racing heart. “Deep down I never doubted you existed but seeing you here, in the flesh, it’s unbelievable. You—your…it’s like I’m staring at the last unicorn or something.”

It’s corny as hell, Miles knows this as he hangs his head, but who's gonna judge him? No one is around, so isn't he allowed a bit of corniness? His mother would pinch his cheek and call him ‘muñequito’ if she saw him.

“Sorry for, uh, you know, scaring the shit outta you back in the tide pool and all,” Miles blurts, a habit of his when he’s around aquatic life, talking, that is. He’s done made peace with it. “But you scared the shit outta me too. You’re a beast, man.” His brows knit with a hint of a smile as he glances up at the siren, who, unsurprisingly, still has not stirred.

Miles looks down, resting his elbows on his knees. Smile gone. “I really, really hope we can get along. I have so much to learn from you, so much to understand, so many questions. You don’t understand how—“ He glances up. “How amazing you are.” It’s whispered like a prayer.

Silence greets Miles. He checks the siren's rib cage to make sure its steady breathing rhythm is there and sighs, rubs his eyes with the back of his hands. God, he’s tired. It’s getting harder and harder to keep his eyes open. Maybe Peter was right, he should’ve gotten a bit to eat at least…

Miles doesn’t notice when his eyelids droop.

Doesn’t realize how much time has passed before he opens them again, blinking with a start. What time is it? How long did he shut his eyes? 2099…is he—

Miles straightens, wipes the spit from his mouth, and freezes when he notices movement up ahead.

Two pairs of red irises pierce right through him like a punch to the gut.

Sharp. All-encompassing. Dissecting him.

2099 is awake, no longer curled up in the corner of his tank. He’s forward, almost touching the glass, unmoving, observing Miles keenly as if he were the rarity stuck behind glass walls.

Intense, Miles thinks, sitting up. Debating whether he should near the glass or just sit there. Would 2099 get scared? Defensive? Attack? The siren is openly glaring at him. Claws out, mouth ajar, fangs bared. He’s pissed. Beyond pissed. Miles can’t even blame him.

“How do you feel?” Miles begins, because where does he even start? He's aware the siren probably can't hear him, much less understand him for that matter, but he’s nervous. “Please don’t be mad at me.”

Miles moves forward on the chair, 2099’s eyes sharpen, tracking every movement like a missile. The siren opens his mouth in what Miles thinks is a hiss before banging his body against the glass with a loud thud. Miles flinches. The siren looks confused before doing it again. “No, don’t do that,” Miles agonizes, the plea falling to deaf ears as 2099 flings his powerful tail against the glass, the shockwave reverberating through the tank. Panic sets in the siren’s eyes.

“You’ll hurt yourself again, please!” Miles begs, standing as 2099’s eyes frantically zigzag across the glass as if realizing he’s in a cage. There’s a deep whimper through the water and Miles' heart shatters, almost leaps forward to place his hands where 2099 is resting his own. The siren flinches away angrily, distraught, backing up until his back hits the other end of the tank.

The look of horror on the siren’s face fills Miles with guilt. He wants to help 2099 somehow but knows there's not much he can do. He must realize he’s not in the ocean anymore, Miles thinks, watching as 2099 observes his surroundings with harrowing awareness. At least I got him to stop hurting himself, he sighs, watching the siren turn his back again, and begin brooding in his corner furthest away from Miles. Ouch.

“I’m sorry,” Miles blurts, gripped by a sudden urge to just say it. 2099 scowls, turns away completely, shoulders tense.

Fuck, I screwed up.

“Already making enemies with the siren, huh, Miles?” Peter’s voice rings like a bell behind him, bringing with him some much-needed lightheartedness.

“I think he hates me,” Miles says, crestfallen. “I don’t really blame ‘em though, to him, it must seem like I put him in there.”

“Don’t take it to heart, kid, we’re all a little grumpy when we wake up.”

“It’s more than that, he’s scared and injured, and stuck in a tank.”

“For his own good,” Peter assures.

“For his own good,” Miles parrots, rubbing his knuckles. But he doesn’t know that.

“Catch,” Peter says before underhand tossing him a burrito.

Miles catches it smoothly, manages a slight tug of the lips, stomach in shambles. “Took you long enough, man.”

“You’re welcome by the way.” Peter’s smirk twitches, astounded. “Paid a pretty penny for that one, just for you.”

“Thanks.” Miles digs in, melting when the flavors hit his pallet, gaze magnetized back on the brooding siren in the corner of the tank. “When can we feed him?” He asks between mouthfuls of burrito. This morning he wanted some enchiladas, but a burrito hit the spot too.

“Let’s wait until tomorrow,” Parker begins, pulling up a seat next to his protégé, eyes glued on the massive, muscly back. “We got enough nutrients and fluids in him through the IV and he looks in good health, aside from the injuries of course. Plus something tells me 2099’s far too grumpy to take food right now.”

Miles licks his lips and wonders what type of food the siren eats on a daily basis, glances at his burrito then back at 2099. Would he enjoy a burrito?

“Probably not,” Peter chuckles.

“Shit, I said that out loud? Damn.” Miles scratches his nape, embarrassed.

“That’s what makes you such an excellent marine biologist, kid.” Peter winks. “You’re never scared of asking the real questions: do sirens like burritos? It’s gonna make headlines one day, trust me.”

Miles snorts, cheeks high with a toothy grin. “Ah, yeah? I see how it is. Nah, next headlines will read: Marine Biologist Peter B. Parker can’t shoot for shit.”

“Hey, I got him didn’t I?”

“Barely. With my help, almost fell in too,” Miles grumbles.

Peter watches 2099 flick his tail in annoyance. “I’m glad he didn’t attack you before we could get to you though.” His smile loses a bit of its edges.

Miles blinks. “Yeah, well, he let me live, I think. He could’ve easily ripped me to shreds, but…he didn’t.” It’s strange, like an epiphany of sorts. “I mean, he did try to at one point, but I kinda caught him off guard a bit.”

“By screaming?”

“Yeah, probably thought I was gonna kill him or something. Nearly shit my pants too.”

Peter chortles, playfully smacking Miles’ shoulder. “Can’t believe we got a real-life siren on our hands, man, and you came this close to becoming siren food,” he says, winded, marveled, and Miles gets it. He really does. “2099 is amazing.”

Miles couldn’t agree more, but he wrinkles his nose at the serial number. “Can we call him something else? 2099 sounds so…”

“Clinical?” Peter finishes.

“Inhumane?” Peni suggests as she emerges from the door.

“Degrading?“ Gwen adds, following suit.

“Objectifying?” Pavitr chimes in. “Like he’s a test subject and it takes away from his quality of life by labeling him as a number instead of a living, breathing, sentient creature with feelings and thoughts?

“Boring,” Miles finishes. “But yeah, all those too.”

“So what should we call ‘ol grumpy fins?” Peni blinks over at the sulking siren.

“Blue panther!” Gwen throws out excitedly.

“Eva unit-01, after my favorite mecha!” Peni exclaims. “Eva for short!”

“How about Kabir! It means great, powerful leader,” Pavitr suggests.

“Mr. Grumpy-muscly-vampire fins,” Peter shoots and misses.

“Dark Garfield!”

“Kamina!”

“Biggie Big!”

“Zahir!”

“Macho Libre!”

“Alright, enough with the bingo-card names,” Peter grumbles, fishing his phone out from his pocket with a theatrical frown. “There’s only one way to settle this affair.” All eyes blink with anticipation. “Boom. Male name generator.”

“Aw, come on, man.” Miles frowns.

“I prefer Eva unit-01,” Peni says.

“That's totally lazy,” Gwen adds, hands on her hips

“Hey, hey, don’t knock it till you try it, what if the name that appears is really good? You’re already dismissing the idea without giving it a chance?” Peter defends.

The group gives each other varying expressions of doubt, but no one makes a move to refute the suggestions, so Peter smirks and says, “Alright then, if everyone’s in agreement, I’mma let it rip.”

Pavitr and Peni chuckle.

And so the button is pressed, and a roulette of names passes through the screen in quick succession. Everyone stills, watching the screen expectantly until it finally lands on a single name.

“Miguel?” Miles says, unsure.

“What a great name.” Peter nods with utmost confidence. “Lovely name, in fact.”

“Guess it’s not too bad, kinda silly for an apex predator but, I’ve heard weirder things.” Gwen shrugs. “Like Teddy for a hurricane.”

“I could get used to Miguel, easy to remember,” Peni agrees.

“I already love the name!” Pavitr says.

“Then it’s settled, from here on out, your name will be Miguel!” Peter points at the glass, causing everyone to turn and look at Miguel who, just as Peter finished saying that, slams his entire body against the tank like a bulldozer, causing a singular crack to form at the center.

 Everyone’s heart drops.

Chapter Text

“I don’t think he likes the name, man!” Miles throws out in sheer panic as the room shakes with the force of Miguel’s lunge. The siren shakes off the momentary whiplash, ramming himself against the glass once more, enraged, causing the crack to lengthen with a grating—creak !

“Oh shit—I mean—pfft, no, he absolutely loves the name, right, Miggy?” Peter squawks, stunned.

“Miggy?” Miles repeats, throwing his hands out in desperation. “He’s gonna break the tank if we don’t do something, Pete!”

Another loud strike fills the room. They flinch in unison. Peni shrieks in horror as the glass shakes under Miguel’s attack.

“He’s hurting himself!” Gwen shouts, eyes wide, watching the siren claw at the glass with powerful swipes of his arms, muscles bulging with the sheer strength of it all. Every blow is causing more damage to the tank and Miguel himself, but it’s as if he did not care or feel a thing. Dark blood begins wafting in the water behind the siren, signaling the reopening of wounds. It’s still not enough to deter him from his rampage though.

“We need to calm him down!” Miles shouts. “Now!”

“What’s making him so upset?” Peni throws her hands over her ears as Miguel claws at the glass with ferocious intent, writhing and twisting like a decapitated snake.

Panicking, Miles dashes towards Miguel, hoping this tactic might scare him off a second time, only for the siren’s eyes to burn red with rage, pupils shrinking into slits. He looks animalistic. Irrationally consumed by it, and the next thing they know, Miguel does something that catches them all off guard, making their blood run cold and their stomach twist like a wire rope.

Thrusting his arms out, two large blades snap out and lock upon Miguel’s respective forearms like spring-loaded blades. They’re massive, weapon-like sabers, red in color, sharp and long, reaching the tips of Miguel’s shoulders. The air is knocked out of their chests when he uses those powerful blades to slice the thick glass like its paper. The shockwave reverberates through the entire room like an explosion. Miles‘ eyes fly open.

Holy shit.

“No no nononono!” Pavitr agonizes, pulling his hair.

Peter bolts for his walkie, shaking it as if it would deliver his message quicker. “Ramirez, get your ass in here! We need all the men you have! 2099 is about to break out of his tank!”

Miguel continues his rampage without so much as a blink of an eye, screaming, roaring, teeth bared as he delivers blow after blow, chipping away at the glass, adding more pressure, more damage until—

“Everyone move!” Miles shouts, gunning it for the door as the crackling sound of withered glass fills the room like fireworks on the Fourth of July. Miles pushes Gwen and Peni towards the door, making sure they’re in front of him, shielding them from the catastrophe that he knows is about to come in a matter of seconds. And like the blast of a gun, the tank ruptures open like a landmine.

Everything is in uproar as gallons upon gallons of ice-cold water knock them out like a head-on collision with a train. Water hammers them into walls and equipment in the room, throwing them into an abyss. Miles can’t even cry in pain when his head chips the side of a table, throwing him and the monitor atop back like ragdolls.

Everything goes black for a moment. There’s a ringing in Miles' ears and a pulsing headache scraping his head. Blackout. The void is disorienting, to the point he’s not sure where he even is for a split second, blinking away the unconsciousness by force.

Miguel, Miles groans, trying to get up, hissing when his head gives a painful stab. The tank…he…the others! Miles blinks away the spots in his vision, lifting his torso from the soppy floor. There are pieces of glass stuck in his left hand, but he can’t feel the pain just yet.

In a daze, he searches the room, heart hammering in his throat when his eyes land on Miguel’s large form flung across the room like a capsized ship. The siren is slowly coming to, stumbling to get himself upright now that he’s fighting against gravity, his tail sloshing against granite. It takes a lot of force if his ragged breaths are any indication of it, but Miguel manages to right himself. He’s out of the water now, massive tail twisting like a snake as he regains his bearings, hissing in pain.

“Miles,” Peter whispers from somewhere to his left, voice clearly in tatters. “Don’t. Move.”

Miguel shakes his head, clearing what Miles can only imagine is the cloudiness in his mind. Gwen groans beside him and Miles tears his eyes to turn towards her, helping her lift her torso from the floor.

“You hurt?” Miles whispers.

“Y-you’re bleeding…” she says off-handedly, frowning at Miles' torn hand. He pays it no mind.

“I’m fine,” he assures, getting between her and Miguel who is now aware of everyone’s presence in the room. The siren puffs up in defense, assessing the situation like a hawk. His eyes glide across the room before whipping his large body towards a corner, clawing and knocking equipment down in his wake. A desperate sound punches out of Miguel’s throat, a half hiss, half groan.

He’s searching for a way out, Miles almost winces at the fact that, even if Miguel did manage to get out of this singular room, there's still miles of land between him and the ocean, not to mention the labyrinth of hallways and floors within Alchemax sanctuary. It pains him to think of just how hopeless Miguel’s situation is, how desperately he’s fighting for freedom that is unattainable right at this moment.

I promise I’ll get you back to the ocean, Miles thinks, locking eyes with the siren in a silent promise, whose velvet eyes glare and plead in desperation. I promise.

The door bursts open then, bringing with it Ramirez and his men filtering inside, their heavy footfalls stomping the floor like an earthquake, causing Miguel to flare up with tension, his spikes puffing out in alarm as he backs away into the corner. Miles' eyes widen when he notices two men carrying firearms already pointed at Miguel.

“What the fuck are you doing with those!” He snaps.

“That thing’s dangerous, Morales,” one of them quips, glaring at Miguel who is snarling, saliva dripping from his fangs and all. “This is only a precaution.”

“Precaution?” Miles spits back like it’s poison. “I swear to God if you hurt him—“

“Miles,” Peter cuts in, sharp and assertive. “Calm down, it’s okay,” he assures him, smiling at the boy who can't help but frown. “You’re prohibited from using those guns,” Peter commands, looking over at the two men. “If you use those I will see to it that you never work here again.”

Miles breathes, chest lightening, if only just a tad, happy to hear Peter has his back.

“You heard him.” Ramirez nods. “Put those things away.”

Sensing the confrontation, Miguel curls his spine, holding himself up against the wall with mostly his right arm, the tip of his tail hovering just in front of him, the barbed stinger pointing at them, ready to puncture like a single-edged rapier.

“Ramirez,” Peter begins, cautiously. “We don’t know how long 2099 can be out of the water. We need to act fast.”

“I got a sedative ready.” The man motions toward his tranquilizer gun. “But seeing as how he went into a frenzy last time we shot him with it, I think it’s best we get people out of here first.”

“Good idea.”

“Quite a big bloke, ain't he?” Hobie Brown comes up behind Miles after checking on Gwen, Peni, and Pavitr. He helps Miles up to his feet. “Hurt, mate?”

“Nah, I’m good,” Miles declares, relieved to see him, eyes glued on Miguel. “He didn’t attack us, he’s just scared.”

“Always put’in the aquatic life first, aye?” Hobie smirks.

“Just…don’t hurt him. Please.” Miles kneads his lower lip, frowning in worry. He wishes it didn’t have to be this way, but Miguel forced their hand. I’m sorry.

“Hope you brought a stronger dose than last time, Ramirez,” Peter says, standing, drenched.

“No worries, boss, I think this will do the trick.”

“We have to be very careful with this,” Peter begins, seriously. “This is the second—no, third time he’s being sedated in a day. If we cause any more stress it might cause him to go into cardiac arrest.”

“Being surrounded like this ain’t helping the big fella,” Hobie points out. “Blokes ‘bout ready to snap. Best we move people along.” He motions for the doors.

“Hobie and Smith, you stay with me, the rest can go,” Ramirez orders. “We’ll protect you guys on the way out.”

“Let’s go.” Peter motions toward Miles and the others. “We’ll leave the rest to you guys.”

Miles hesitates, not wanting to leave. He wants to stay and make sure everything goes smoothly, make sure they don’t hurt Miguel or cause him more stress. He also knows this isn't the time or place to make a fuss. Miguel’s life is on the line and spending a second longer arguing about this will compromise his health. So with a heavy heart, he pushes past the door, casting Miguel a final glance before leaving.

“Make sure he’s okay,” Miles says to Hobie before fully exiting the room.

“Aye aye, captain.”

“He’s extremely aggressive and territorial,” Miles rambles out loud, index finger curling on his lips as he paces back and forth in the lab. He’s jittery, stomach in his hands, a jumbled mess of nerves and anxiety. “I think part of the reason Miguel lost control is because so many of us were in the room at once. He’s in an unfamiliar place, injured, scared, and tanked. All this might’ve spiked his anxiety and aggression levels. I think we should dim the lights too.”

“All good observations we’ll take into consideration,” Peter agrees, running a tired hand down his face. “He’s giving my daughter a run for her money with how many heart attacks they can give me in a day.”

After Miguel was sedated and secured, not before trying to make an attempt at Ramirez’s and Hobie’s life, they transferred the sedated siren to another healing tank. Unfortunately, on such short notice, they didn’t have many tanks readily available to choose from, not one for Miguel’s size, at least. The healing tank he’s in now is smaller in comparison, older, too, but a hell of a lot stronger. It isn’t their first choice, not by a long shot (if it were up to Miles, he would bestow Miguel with an ocean of a tank) but they needed a tank with fortified acrylic walls instead of glass, something to prevent another incident like this from happening. On such short notice, this smaller tank would have to do for now.

Miguel would not like this. Not one bit. The tank barely clears a kitty pool in comparison to what Miguel is used to, but what could they do? Their hands were tied.

“That whole incident was insane,” Peter laments over a cup of coffee and a status report. “Did you see those retractile blades on Miguel’s forearms? We sure did miss those wipers on the examination table, huh? God, it’s like we haven’t scratched the surface of what we’ve learned about him.”

“He broke through all of that glass with those too,” Pavitr notes, rubbing his neck. “Must be crazy strong.”

“They’re so dangerous,” Gwen tacks on. “But so fucking cool.”

After checking Miguel’s vitals, redressing his injuries and splint, and settling him in his temporary tank, they watch the siren come to through a surveillance camera in another room. Miles is attentive, bending over to watch the feed with one hand on the table. He wishes he could be there when he wakes but ultimately settles against it, guessing Miguel probably wanted nothing to do with him right at this moment of respite.

“Higher-ups are gonna love this,” Peter drawls, taking a sip of his coffee, groaning when he notices a stain on his shirt.

“Do you know when they will be releasing Miguel’s existence to the public?” Gwen asks the question that's been looming over all of their minds. They know Miguel’s discovery and their respective research will eventually be publicized to the media and by extension, the masses. The question is a matter of when, because it wasn't up to them, that fell on the hands of the men above Peter himself, the owners of Alchemax. 

Miles has never met the owners of Alchemax and honestly, he’s not sure if he wants to. Yeah, they fund their research, allocate equipment, supplies, resources, and establish sanctuaries for marine life, but he’s heard rumors of an Alchemax’s underbelly only after he joined their company.

How the executive chief, Tyler Stone, has made questionable decisions founded on greed and money. He’s a businessman first and an animal advocate second, and for Miles, that will always be a red flag. If Tyler Stone decided to go public with Miguel’s existence as a business tactic and monetary venture, Miles might just quit on principle.

It’s happened in the past from what he’s heard, a knot of messy management and decision making which has led to altercations, and even the removal of certain sea creatures from some facilities. It didn’t sit right with Miles at all, and he contemplated quitting at one point until Peter convinced him to stay. Peter is the reason he’s still here. His genuine love for sea life and excellent management breathe life and purpose into their work.

“I need a bright, young mind like yours, kid,” Peter once said. “I can see the love and passion in your eyes. I need that on my team. We can make a difference.”

“I don’t think going public with Miguel’s existence this soon is a good idea,” Miles says, crossing his arms. “There’s still so much we don’t understand about him, and the public will go crazy with it. They’ll want to poke and prod, and it may end up hurting Miguel in the long run, as well as our research.”

“I agree.” Peter nods, standing and stretching his back. “Right now I think it’ll be a detriment to Miguel if the public knows of his existence. It’s much too soon, we need time to understand his behavior and species before they can see him.”

“We gotta convince the higher-ups to give us time to do our thing,” Miles adds, almost pleading.

“I’ll fill them in on all the details.” Peter motions towards Miguel on the feed and the overall tank incident. “Sirens and crowds will probably not mix well, not now at least, he’s not a spectacle for an aquarium.” Peter rubs his stubble pensively. “But they’ll want to see him soon and make a decision afterward. I’ll try my best to convince them of our suggestions.”

The next day they find Miguel floating in the corner of the healing tank as if condemned. He doesn’t acknowledge Miles or Peter when they enter the room, or even spare them a fleeting glance. The siren is spent. Drained of all adrenaline and energy from the day prior, replaced by a hollow shell of what was once there. The sight is disheartening. Miles' chest tightens uncomfortably.

He tries getting Miguel’s attention, waving his Alchemax pad in front of his general direction, hoping the light might attract him, only for the siren to turn away, prickly as a cactus. Miles and Peter share a worrying glance. They try to get him to eat, and just like Peter predicted, Miguel ignores the fish provided for him. The motionless fish sink all the way to the bottom, while Miguel keeps his back turned towards them in indignation.

This continues on for two more days.

Each day they try to get Miguel’s attention, careful to not be forceful with their intentions, lest they garner another rampage, but nothing works. Miguel refuses to eat. Refuses to move or even sleep. They watch him through the surveillance, hoping he might be more at ease when no one is around, only for there to be little difference, even in an empty room Miguel floats like a doll.

“This isn't good,” Peter sighs, watching the siren curl his tail around himself after they attempt to feed him once again, to no avail. “He’s shutting us out, and we're losing time. He needs to eat or we’ll lose him.”

Miles watches in desperation, powerless and lost to the scene before him. It’s frustrating being this close and still unable to connect with such a beautiful and powerful creature. Watching Miguel slowly wither away haunts him. It’s as if the siren gave up on life entirely. Everyone is trying their hardest to help him, and still, it seems their attempts aren't good enough. They couldn’t even risk setting Miguel back in the ocean at this point, not in his weakened state, it would be a death sentence for him.

Miles aches with the stress of it all, pressing the palms of his hands against his closed lids until he sees spots of color, racking his brain for ways to bridge the gap between him and Miguel. Think! Think! Hues of aqua blue reflect off his skin and dance in his eyes when he opens them, memories of his time with mermaids and belugas breaching the surface. Everything comes to a roaring halt, and like a slap to the face, Miles’ eyes go wide with realization.

“That’s it!”

Peter turns to him. “What’s it?”

“That might just work…”

“What might just work?”

Like a shot in the dark, Miles gets an idea and springs into action. Suddenly, the gears in his head are turning faster than he can verbalize as he walks out of the room entirely, making a beeline for their Beluga whale station. Peter calls after him, confused, and Miles doesn’t mean to ignore him, but the thoughts in his head are much too loud.

“There you are,” Miles says when he comes upon their MMC, short for Marine Mimic Communicator, a device used on certain aquatic animals like belugas, dolphins, whales, and even mermaids. The MMC is a new type of technology, giving them access to a rudimentary form of communication between humans and ocean mammals by mimicking their whistles and calls. It can be adjusted depending on the mammal, and set to different frequencies to express different commands and even emotions.

Miles doesn’t know if this will work on Miguel, hell, he doesn’t even know if the siren uses this form of communication patterns, but hell if he doesn’t try.

I won’t lose him.

“You absolute genius.” Peter smiles like a proud father when he notices the MMC in Miles' hands.

“Don’t sing my praise yet, old timer, don’t know if this’ll work yet,” Miles says, climbing up the stairs to Miguel’s tank, carefully unscrewing the main hatch once he’s on the feeding dock. Peter makes sure Miles stays safe by keeping an eye on Miguel, making sure the siren doesn’t stir an inch.

“Let’s hope this works, kid,” Peter says as Miles sets the device in the water, closing the hatch over the long stretch of cables that connect the MMC to his laptop. Miles practically leaps off the stairs once everything is set up, sifting through an array of clicks and whistles made by various oceanic animals. He settles on a beluga call.

Alright. Here goes nothing.

Miles presses the button and listens as the tank fills with the soundwaves of a beluga whistle, a signal used to convey a greeting in their language.

Miguel’s reaction is swift, flinching when the waves hit his ears. He looks up, alert and confused, surprise clear as day on his features. Miles watches in fascination as the siren finally slithers out of his corner to investigate. It worked! Miles practically jumps with excitement, smiling wide as he presses the signal once more. Miguel frowns, tilting his head, swimming towards the top of the tank where the source originates.

“Woah, look at him,” Peter whispers, afraid any sound or movement might break the moment.

Yeah, Miles thinks, mesmerized. Look at him.

Miguel reaches the device and pokes it with a finger, comically offended. Miles chuckles and presses a different whistle, this time, one that means “fish”.

Miguel bares his teeth and crinkles his nose, crushing the MMC between his claws and dragging it to the bottom of the tank.

“Woah woah woah!” Miles panics as his laptop leaps out of his grasp and lands on the floor. “Shit shit shit!” He hurries to disconnect the wires before Miguel takes his laptop with him.

Peter has tears in his eyes. “That’s a thousands-of-dollars goober right there,” he laments, watching as Miguel rips the poor device open like a clam. “He’s pulverizing it.”

“We got him to do something though! Right?” Miles fist bumps the air, light in his eyes as Miguel twirls in the water, smacking the tattered machine with his tail like a tennis ball.

“You did it, Miles!” Gwen cheers through the intercom, having watched the whole thing through the camera. “I got an idea too, what if we feed him live fish?”

“That sounds like a great idea!” Miles says.

“That might do the trick, he is an apex predator after all…but the goober…” Peter says after the aftershock of watching their poor MMC get destroyed. “That’s coming out of my paycheck,” he jokes.

“Let’s do it!” Miles all but shouts, excited beyond belief. This is progress! This is a step in the right direction!

Chapter Text

“Mijo, ¿porque lloras? Aren’t you happy Papa caught a fish? There’s no reason to cry.”

“C-cause—cause Papa’s a big meanie!” Four-year-old Miles wails, rubbing his swollen eyes with the back of his hands.

“We’re going to cook and eat this fish, son.” Jefferson bends down to his son’s level, going soft. “It’s not going to waste. It’s part of life,” he tries to explain in a gentle tone. “Please don’t cry.”

“Nu-uh, no! You hurts the fishies, Papa! Yur not my Papa no more!”

“Okay, okay, Miles alright you win, you win! Look—I’m putting the fishie back, okay? It’s okay, son.”

Rio scoops Miles up and wipes his tears away with tender kisses.

“Ay mi niño, estas bien lindo.”

Miles' lashes flutter as the memory washes over him in golden waves, placid like an evening ocean breeze. He adjusts himself, watching as juvenile Mackerel swim in lazy circles inside a large container. He mumbles a quiet apology, knowing their fate.

“Ready, Miles?” Pavitr asks, smiling.

“Ready.”

They’re on the feeding dock above Miguel’s recovery tank, Pavitr’s hands on the latch while Miguel meanders in circles below, acutely aware of the commotion above him. He’s curious, sensing the premonition of something coming. Pavitr unlatches the smaller opening reserved for medium-sized fish and nods. Peter is below, hands on his hips, overseeing the entire exchange.

Ever since they used the MMC on Miguel the siren has become more responsive, more than the last 2 days of complete silence at least. He’s not where they want him to be in terms of health just yet, but baby steps are necessary to accomplish their goal.

Miguel has taken to swimming around the tank, surveying his surroundings and glaring at anyone who gets close. Dimming the lights helped a lot too, and to everyone's surprise, after tearing the MMC to shreds, Miguel began grooming himself. They stared in fascination as he used those impressive red blades on his arms to sharpen both his claws and the blades themselves. Carefully, he tended to his dorsal spines, and ran his hands through his hair multiple times, combing it back, rubbing his face and tail to clean himself of whatever he thought was on him. It reminded Miles of an otter.

It’s kind of cute, he thought, fascinated by Miguel’s attention to detail. How such a large, powerful creature could be so meticulous and precise. It makes sense, of course, but it’s still really nice to see.

Miguel’s temper has improved somewhat as well. He’s slightly less aggressive, though still very much cranky, but at least he isn't slamming against the tank anymore. God, Miles doesn’t think he can handle another heart attack like that. He hopes it never happens again.

“Let’s see if Big Papa likes some live fish.” Peter winks from below and Miles snorts. That’s a little sus, he thinks but chalks it up to Peter being Peter. The man says a lot of questionable things.

“On three,” Miles says, gripping the large tub, nodding towards Pavitr who readies himself. “One, two, three—” They tip the container over and watch as the fish cascade into Miguel’s tank. Quickly, Miles races down to the bottom, not wanting to miss the siren in action.

Instantly, Miguel perks up when he senses the vibrations in the water, eyes dilating when he spots the fish, trailing their every move with his head. Like a strike of lightning, he bolts toward them with a powerful flick of his tail, reaching the other end of the tank in under a second. Miguel expertly shifts directions when the fish attempt to zigzag away from danger, fearing for their lives. It’s all in vain because Miguel descends on not one, but two fish at the same time. One with his sharp teeth, the other with his claws, catching them through their midsection and ripping them open with his fangs. He swallows the frantic mackerel in a single bite, quickly followed by the next.

Miles swallows, impressed, relief washing over him. Finally, Miguel is eating. They’re watching an apex predator hunt, and the sight is daunting beyond belief but incredibly gratifying.

They're finally heading in the right direction.

“I’m kind of disappointed he’s not using his stinger yet,” Pavitr says beside Miles. “I really wanted to see that in action.”

“Maybe it’s only for larger prey? Or maybe it's just a defense mechanism?” Miles supposes, brow creased.

“Maybe both,” Peter adds, hands on his hips. “Ya know, like a spider or a snake.”

A thud against the tank makes their hearts collectively seize before realizing it’s just Miguel making a quick turn. Unfortunately, the tank isn’t large enough for all of his fancy moves, and the tips of his flukes end up grazing the acrylic a couple of times.

“As soon as his injuries heal properly we’ll get him into a bigger tank,” Peter promises, thinking the same as Miles, watching Miguel swallow fish after fish, tearing them into shreds. The tank turns murky with blood and guts, fry bits sprinkling the water by the end of it. Luckily their filtration system is top-notch, giving Miguel ample freedom to be as ravenous as possible.

“That MMC idea really did the trick, huh, kid?” Peter nudges him. Proud. Miles returns the smile tenfold.

“Yeah, I’m so glad it did.” I was really worried, is left unsaid as he turns back to Miguel, blinking owlishly when he finds the siren staring back at him, mackerel tail between his teeth. Miles' heart kicks up a bit, caught off guard. When did he get so close? Miguel’s chasmic stare is disarming, intense, and sharp around all its edges as he swallows the tail.

“You know,” Miles begins, unable to look away, captivated. “Even though the MMC got Miguel’s attention, we haven’t heard him produce any calls or whistles of his own yet,” he notes, watching the siren swim over to his safe spot in the darkest part of the tank with an upturn of his nose, admiring the arch and beauty of his exotic tail. “I’m starting to think that's not his form of communication at all.”

“It’s possible Miguel might have just reacted to the beluga sounds because it’s something he’s familiar with in the ocean,” Peter agrees, rubbing his stubble. “Maybe he doesn’t understand a lick of it, so we’ll have to continue running tests to be sure.”

“Which reminds me,” Miles begins, giving Peter a pretty-please look, eyelashes fluttering and all. “I wanna try the MMC idea again.” Peter narrows his eyes. “But this time, with a little Miles-twist to it.”

“A Miles-twist, huh? This should be good, alright, let me hear it.”

“So last time we put the MMC in the water with Miguel, right? Which, admittedly, wasn't the smartest idea considering how territorial he is,” Miles begins, making rubix-cube mannerisms with his hands, “but check it, what if we attached the MMC to the ceiling of his tank? Like the underside of the feeding hatch so he can't get to it?”

Truth is, after they got Miguel to respond with the MMC the first time, Miles hasn't been able to stop thinking of ways to bridge the gap between them once more. The first connection was electrifying, and really, now that Miles thinks about it, their first real connection happened back in that tide pool. But the MMC was a crucial stepping stone to getting Miguel to respond after days of nothing but silence.

It’s almost maddening how often Miles played their interactions in his head, caught on loop, to the point that he couldn’t get a wink of sleep that night. Too busy sketching project ideas, namely, how to attach the MMC to the healing tank without letting the siren rip it to shreds.

And if a couple of Miguel sketches slipped into his sketchbook, possibly filling up two entire pages, that was between him and God.

“If we use some aquarium-safe adhesive, you know, some A grade stuff, in theory, Miguel should have a harder time reaching the goober and attacking it,” Miles finishes, watching the siren begin to pick at his tail spines.

“In theory,” Peter parrots.

“In theory,” Miles reiterates.

“What could go wrong?” Peter snorts, shrugging off the anxiousness with a goofy smile. “Just another expensive goober that costs an arm and a leg provided by corporate money! Let’s do it!”

Miles' smile could replace the sun in that moment, thrilled beyond belief. He wastes no time in getting to work, and with Peter’s help, they gather the necessary equipment for the job. Together they scale Miguel’s tank, ready to begin operation ‘Siren-no-swiping’, aptly named by Peter himself.

Miles rolls his eyes with a fond smile.

“Everythings good down here.” Gwen spots them from below once they’re ready to lift the hatch, making sure Miguel doesn’t make any sudden movements toward them as they plant the MMC.

“The floors all yours, kid,” Peter says, before opening the hatch for Miles to stick his arms in. He feels for an adequate spot and gets to work, planting it just adjacent to the opening so they don't have to worry about damaging it or knocking it over. He uses some clear, water-proof adhesive that Peter hands him, dispensed from an adhesion gun. The job isn’t particularly difficult, but the odd angle makes attaching the goober a damn struggle, causing Miles’ muscles to ache, especially his core and triceps as he hovers just shy of the opening. It takes longer than expected, mainly due to Miles wanting to make sure the MMC is attached properly, ensuring the sound won't be muffled at all. 

“Uh, guys?” Gwen calls out, and by the tone of her voice, Miles already knows it isn't good. “Miguel’s slowly making his way towards you two. Might wanna hurry up.”

“I’m almost there,” Miles mumbles, tongue peeking from his lips in concentration. His abdomen is flush against the metal as he finics with the last bit of the plaster gun, making sure the MMC is secured to the ceiling of the tank.

“Hurry!” Panic shoots through Gwen’s voice.

“I know!

“Kid, get your hand outta there!”

“Ack—“ Miles gasps when a cold and wet hand seizes his wrists like a lasso, enveloping the entirety of his joint, bringing him down onto the metal with a strong force. Luckily, he doesn’t slip inside the tank, just by a slither though. Peter is there, holding onto him for dear life.

“Oh shit,” Gwen gasps.

“Fuck!” Peter curses.

Miguel has him by the wrist.

Miles' blood runs cold, heart in his ears as he tries to fight against the strong grasp but it doesn’t budge, not in the slightest. Miguel’s grip is iron-clad, like a bear trap around his wrist, cold and solid. Terrifying. Miles doesn’t realize he’s hyperventilating until Peter talks him out of it.

“Miles, calm down,” Peter says, a solid weight against his body. “Is he hurting you?”

Miles blinks through the shock and nerves, blood pumping through his veins like a fire hydrant. No, he realizes, Miguel isn’t hurting him. His touch is a bit cold, but he’s just….holding him.

“He’s not hurting me,” he assures, voice quivering. “But he won’t let go.” Miguel’s hands are rough around his skin, it doesn’t hurt, it’s just an odd feeling. Miles can feel the hint of claws digging into his skin but the pressure isn't enough to puncture. So cold, Miles thinks, maneuvering himself so he’s able to see Miguel, who is poking his upper half out of the water in order to reach him. Those vermillion eyes paralyze him. They’re searching his soul. Less intimidating, more observing.

Slowly, Miguel turns Miles writs to and fro, examining the appendage as if he were the biologist and not him.

“He’s…” Gwen's mouth falls open.

“Examining you,” Peter finishes, amazed.

Miles is too stunned to speak, watching as Miguel slowly lets go of his wrist and holds the back of his hand gently, like a feather. Miles doesn’t move, one part in fear, two parts in fascination. Then, his heart skips a beat.

Miguel interlocks their fingers.

“Holy fuck…” Miles manages between short breaths, unable to even blink, eyes welling with tears from the force of it all. Miguel’s large, veiny hand covers the entirety of his own to an almost embarrassing degree and he squeezes, Miles reciprocates without hesitation. The gentleness isn't lost on Miles either, Miguel knows how much pressure to apply so he isn’t crushing or hurting him in any way. That in itself is mind-boggling. This self-control, self self-awareness easily gives credence to higher intelligence. Not that Miles doubted Miguel had it in the first place, but seeing it in action is a different story.

“Miguel,” Miles tries his name, blood pulsing through his head with the force of gravity, watching as the siren tilts his head with an inquisitive frown. Miles gingerly squeezes his hand once more. “Miguel,” he says again.

Miguel blinks, a frown in place, and in the blink of an eye, lets go of Miles’ hand and dives back into the furthest part of the tank. Miles heaves a deep breath, mourning the loss of contact before being pulled back onto the safety of the platform, rolling onto his back with a gasp.

“That was,” Peter begins, scrambling for words. “Terrifying.”

Miles pants, cold sweat dotting his forehead, before shuddering and bursting into laughter. “That was amazing!”

“What a story!” Peni says through the intercom, having watched the entire exchange through the surveillance system. “You held hands with a siren, Miles!”

Peter closes the hatch, helping Miles up, giving him a heavy pat on the back. “You always find yourself in extraordinary situations, huh, kid?”

“A knack, my uncle Aaron calls it.” Miles rubs his shaky hands, rattled by the whole encounter as they descend the stairs.

“I'll say! How did it feel? His hand?” Gwen asks when Miles reaches ground level.

Miles takes a moment to collect himself, turns his attention back to Miguel, who is left with nothing else to do but watch them in turn, his signature frown in place. He wonders what the siren could be thinking right about now.

“Cold,” he finally says, eyes glazed over. “But strangely warm.” He flexes his fingers. “He knows how much pressure to apply to keep from hurting me,” Miles continues, looking over at Gwen and Peter. “Do you think I can try it again?”

“Wow there,” Peter cuts in, palming the air in downward, calming motions. “Let’s not get too ahead of ourselves. What happened just now is very dangerous. You could've lost a finger or an arm had Miguel been in a different mood. I think it's best we study him more, learn his behavior, gauge his temperament and what sets him off first. Then we can have more hand-holding sessions, m’kay?”

Miles hopes the disappointment on his face doesn't show, because Peter is right, Miguel is far too unpredictable to be handled so carelessly just yet.

He goes home that night like a man who's seen signals in the sky. He lies awake, eyes glued to the ceiling, Miguel swimming in the forefront of his head like a—well, a siren, and he twists to the side in hopes of falling asleep. Nothing. He twists to the other side, nursing thoughts of Miguel. Nothing. Switches to the cold side of the pillow. Ah, relaxing…but still nothing.

Miles is restless.

He extends his arm out and flexes his hand, the phantom touch of Miguel’s palm lingering on his skin.

The gap, he wants to bridge that gap between them now more than ever.

Chapter Text

Fantasy mermaids found in children’s books and mythical tales are a far cry from mermaids found in real life.

The similarities are few and far between. Sharing the most basic of traits—located in the ocean, uncanny human characteristics, bestowed with a tail similar to dolphins and whales. The similarities stop there.

There are many misconceptions about mermaids floating in the general public that Miles has come to learn, and while most are benign details, some can be extremely harmful. One such misconception is a mermaid's ability to breathe underwater. They don’t. Much like whales and other oceanic mammals, mermaids come up for air after about two to three hours, holding the record for longest dive amongst the cetacean family. A special lid-type muscle located within their nostrils and trachea prevents water from breaching their lungs when diving, hunting, eating, and playing.

The ability to breathe underwater is a huge misconception, one that even Miles fell for as a child as well. In reality, mermaids filter oxygen through four sets of lungs, yes, four. Two large lungs found in the chest cavity, and two smaller sets located right behind them, snug against the larger set, each protected by strong elastic pulmonary tissue specialized for long dives. Research shows this arrangement, as well as increased capillary layers, increases the ability to retain oxygen, giving mermaids the illusion of underwater breathing, when in reality, they are diving on a single powerful breath.

It's honestly incredible.

Another misconception, albeit fairly harmless, is the size a mermaid can grow to. Many children, and even adults, believe mermaids can grow up to the size of a common bottlenose dolphin, which ranges between 6.6 ft (2 m) to 13 ft (3.9 m). And while Miles loves teaching people the truth, he always gets a kick out of how surprised they get when they realize mermaids are actually quite small, ranging between 5 ft (1.5 m) to 5.5 ft (1.6 m).

Some mermaids can outgrow that range of course, with some rare cases growing to about 6ft (1.8 m), but most stay below that range, especially mermaids born in captivity. Their body is small and smooth, lithe and scaleless much like a dolphin, equipped for high speeds underwater. There’s no webbing between their fingers, or ridges and spikes on their tails and flukes. And while mermaids are generally harmless creatures to humans, they do possess sharp teeth and claws used for hunting an array of oceanic life. Though, for the most part, mermaids are well-natured and docile creatures, often regarded as the Golden Retrievers of the ocean.

That's not to say one should let their guard down around them, they can be rather cunning and mischievous creatures at times, possessing a higher intelligence closely related to dolphins or chimpanzees, if not higher. Mermaids sense emotions and intent like a sixth sense, which dictates their reactions around you and whether they accept you or not. That being said, they are highly sociable creatures, forming pods and communities between their own, all melding together as a family.

Bonds are the lifeline of a mermaid’s life. They engage in both physical and verbal forms of communication, sharing affectionate touches and using whistles and clicks similar to belugas and dolphins for communication. The need to feel accepted and loved by their pod is a crucial necessity in a mermaid's life, and if deprived of the rest, research has shown that it can lead to sickness and even death.

“Beña, Serina, Sol, Luna, Leo! Breakfast time!” Miles calls out from the shallow end of the mermaid enclosure, green feeding bucket in hand. Today is exam day for a lot of the wildlife in the sanctuary, and that includes the mermaids, who are always the first on the list. Exam day is a crucial part of the sanctuary's routine, helping make sure everyone is happy and healthy.

“They’re so busy playing they're not even paying attention,” Peni chuckles, taking out her whistles and blowing it, the sound penetrates the deepest part of the waters, getting their attention. Instantly, the pod rises to the surface with happy chirps and somersaults, splashing Miles and Peni with water, their playful form of ‘hello’.

“Very funny guys.” Miles shakes the water from his face, snorting. “Bunch of comedians, huh? Who wants some fish?”

The word makes them all perk enthusiastically, happy smiles and nodding heads flicking in unison. It’s a shame no mermaid has ever been able to learn human language despite possessing a mouth and lips similar to humans. Their larynx is designed in a way that only allows for whistles and clicks, and although mermaids can learn the meaning of an array of human words, none have been able to utter a single one.

“Alright, line up,” Miles instructs, knee-deep into the water, making a signal with his hand that lets them know it’s feeding time. They all line up as Peni and Miles begin hand-feeding them fish, one by one they all get their fill, chirping happily and trying to mimic a human’s laugh as they consume their breakfast. While Peni feeds Sol and Luna, Miles works with Leo, Serina, and Beña, three wonderful mermaids whom Miles has formed a strong bond with, especially Beña, the most recent rescue.

Sure enough, the timid little mermaid remains nestled against Miles’ abdomen after finishing her portion, preferring to stick close to him instead of racing around the tank with her surrogate pod. Beña is a reserved and affectionate mer, still working through her traumatic past before being brought to the sanctuary. It’s a journey with many bumps and hills, one that Miles and everyone else have tried helping her overcome.

Beña is a rescue, taken from abusive and neglectful owners who used her as an entertainment act, locking her up when she was no longer useful. Deprived of both sunlight and a pod to bond with, the treatment left her stunted both physically and emotionally, and while Miles will never know the full extent of her abuse, the sadness and hurt in her eyes says it all.

Despite the pain, Beña is trying her hardest to open up and accept love. She craves it like any other mermaid. This is why Miles makes sure to give her extra attention and affection when he sees her, letting her know they are there to love and help her, not harm her. Despite many months passing before she could even look at humans again, let alone stop from flinching around them, she grew to adore Miles the most. He was her first point of contact when it came to healing, soaking up his tenderness like morning dew, brightening up with every caress of her hair or call of her name. Miles watched her progress from a frail scared mer to a soft and nurturing pod member, able to carry her own. He’s so damn proud of her, grateful he was able to be a part of her journey.

“Miles’ special touch,” Peter had praised, making Miles bloom with satisfaction and fulfillment.

“Who's my lovely girl?” Miles cooes as Beña wraps her delicate arms around his torso, nuzzling into his abdomen, practically radiating with happiness and affection. He caresses her hair, wondering if one day he might be able to do this with Miguel.

The desire is strong.

“You think Miguel is up for a check-up today?” Peter asks once they're done examining the mermaids, gathering the last bit of blood work.

“Honestly?” Miles gives him a troubled look, one that does little to quell his nerves. “No. He’s not up for much of anything lately.”

Peter sighs deeply, resigned. “We need to check on his injuries soon.” A pause. “Administer an IV and another dose of antibiotics PRN.” His shoulders tense as they make their way toward the siren's temporary enclosure, nose wedged between notes and charts stuck to a clipboard. Old-fashioned but it gets the job done. “We need to make sure Miguel’s arm is healing properly and that he’s not losing too much weight. He hasn't been eating as much as we’d like.”

It’s been three weeks since they rescued Miguel.

And in those three weeks, the progress they’ve made with him has been….grueling, to say the least. Miguel is difficult in every sense of the word. Socializing the siren is a feat all on its own, one that they haven't had much luck in in all honesty. Sure, the MMC Miles planted in his tank did help coax him out of his shell a bit, but the novelty of it has worn off quickly for Miguel, who all but ignores it now. The apex predator only moves when he wants to, and for the past few days, it's been a slow descent to almost nothing.

Miles becomes nauseous with worry.

Miguel’s cold-shoulder treatment has gotten so bad that live fish don’t do the trick anymore. Miles can’t describe the plummet his heart made when, one morning, Miguel refused to move from his corner of the tank after live mackerels were dropped in. No, his heart lurched, watching as Miguel stared at the fish with disinterest, an impassive gaze devoid of emotion staring back at him.

It’s like they were back to square one.

Any attempts at switching up their routine ended in failure. Even changing Miguel’s diet was fruitless, dropping sardines in his tank only for Miguel to ignore them all, not budging an inch. The siren’s aloof disposition is so immense that even the fish were emboldened by it, swimming closer to him and nipping at his skin and tail. Some even attempted to make a nest in his hair, and as amusing as it was, it’s horribly worrying.

Seeing the life slowly drain out of Miguel once again grips Miles with anxiety. He couldn’t stand the sight of it. Like a knife to his chest, he felt helpless, useless, inept, but most of all, miserable. Night after night he sat contemplating ways of helping improve the siren's overall health and quality of life. They were limited to what they could do at the moment though, with Miguel stuck in the healing tank for the time being. The possibility of this behavior being the sign of a deeper underlying health issue crossed all of their minds too, which is why they needed to check on the siren's health as soon as possible, and get him into a new tank as soon as possible.

They couldn’t properly study Miguel’s behaviors like this either, not with him shutting down. Every step forward felt like two steps back, and the notion frightened Miles to an uncertain degree.

“We need to examine him today,” Miles says, voice hard-held. “We can’t afford to wait another day, Pete.”

“You’re right.” Peter nods before unlocking the door to Miguel’s enclosure, greeting the siren with a soft, “Hey, buddy.” Miguel, for his part, laid aimlessly meandering in circles in the center of his tank like an ant stuck in an ant mill, a far-away look in his velvet eyes. Miles almost shrivels at the sight.

“Question is,” Peter begins, hands on his hips, “how are we going to administer an antibiotic like this? Immersion anesthesia is out of the question, I don’t think it will do the trick on Miguel and I don’t want to risk him waking up in the middle of the medical bed.”

“I can stick my hand in his tank again? Lure him to the surface and try to give him an oral antibiotic that way,” Miles suggests only for Peter to shake his head no.

“Too risky, as much as I want Miguel to get better, it’s still too soon to do something like that. I really don’t think it’s a good idea.”

“What are we supposed to do then? Let him wither away?” Frustration seeps into Miles’ voice. He knows it's not Peter's fault, he’s misplacing his frustration on someone who doesn’t deserve it, but he can’t help it. “So far nothing has worked, man. Miguel’s stopped eating, he’s done nothing but swim in circles for hours! We need to get him into a bigger tank!”

“I know, I know, listen—Miles, no one knows that better than me, but before we make the move we have to make sure he’s healed properly. You and I both want what's best for Miguel, right?” Peter squeezes Miles' shoulder, trying to reach the boy’s eyes. “Right?”

“Right,” Miles says between grit teeth.

“If we move him into a larger tank now, Miguel will be even harder to reach. It’ll make it difficult for us to even check on his health, which might cause him more damage in the long run.”

He knows that, and yet it’s a bitter pill to swallow.

“So what do we do?” Miles sighs, throwing his hands up, taking a moment to collect himself before saying, “We can’t even sedate him anymore, not when he refuses to surface for food.”

“We’re gonna have to drain the tank.”

Miles throws Peter a look, eyes hard with apprehension. Drain the tank? That's only reserved for dire situations, last-resort type efforts. It wasn't an ideal method since it put tremendous amounts of stress on the sea creatures. Imagine one day the air around you begins to evaporate before you. It isn't a pleasant scenario to think about.

“He’s not going to trust us at all if we do that,” Miles warns.

“He doesn’t trust us at all now,” Peter counters, determined. “We tried everything in the book to get Miguel to cooperate and nothing’s worked, I really don’t blame him, it’s instinctual for him to fight back but if we prolong this we will lose him.”

Miles looks away, fighting back the headache forming in his temples. His eyes open and find Miguel, who has retracted back to his corner of the tank, staring at them with jaded eyes. Miles wishes Miguel understood how much they wanted to help him.

“Alright,” Miles begins, resolute. “Let’s drain the tank.”

Miguel openly glares at the crew of techs entering his enclosure, fangs bared, as if sensing the tension in the air. A team of 3 techs along with Peter and Miles surround Miguel’s tank, all anxious to get the job done as quickly as possible. The job being—draining the tank, sedating Miguel, lifting the siren out of the tank, and bringing him into the med bay for a check-up, all while the tank is filled once more. Easier said than done.

“Watch out, he’s highly territorial,” Peter warns the men as they near the valve hidden behind a plate. Miguel bristles like a porcupine as soon as they get close, hissing through the water. Although this isn’t the ideal situation, this is the most emotion they’ve seen from Miguel in days, and Miles really shouldn't be happy when Miguel lunges at the crew, making two of them flinch. They're surprised by the sheer size of him, riveted to the spot by what's considered a mythical creature displaying high levels of aggression, attempting to defend his territory.

“What a beast,” one of them gawks, before remembering himself and resuming his job. They work on connecting the hose to an apparatus that drains the tank faster, making sure it's securely attached to the valve. Stressed, Miguel begins devouring the sardines left meandering around in his hair, all without breaking eye contact with the strangers in his room. Miles knows he shouldn’t count this as a victory either, Miguel is clearly agitated, but part of him is glad the siren got a little snack before the real stressful part begins.

Once everything is properly hooked up and ready to go, the lead tech engages the device and releases the valve, allowing the draining process to begin.

Miguel goes into a frenzy.

The noise produced by the machine isn’t exactly ear-splitting per se, but it isn't a quiet hum either, more of an annoying whirring sound like that of a car engine. To them it's manageable, to Miguel, the unknown seems to agitate him even more. His eyes sharpen into slits, muscles bulging with tension as the noise vibrates throughout his tank. Miles is powerless as he watches Miguel bolt from one end to the other, heart racing as the water slowly drains. The siren takes to attacking the acrylic with his claws and blades again, but this time, the walls do their job of keeping him contained.

I’m sorry, Miles thinks as the water drains below 50% and Miguel retreats to his corner, back plastered against the wall.

“Alright, Ramirez, you can come in now,” Peter instructs through a walkie-talkie, watching the water level reach Miguel’s crown at this point. After a minute or two, Ramirez walks in with a tranquilizer gun, respectful of Miguel's presence, careful to not make any sudden movements that might trigger the siren even more. Miles scales the stairs with him, ready to unlatch the hatch so Ramirez can get a clear shot. He hesitates for a split second, not wanting to open it, wishing to protect Miguel from any more stress. But Miles steels himself, remembering that this is for Miguel’s benefit. This is his job—his purpose in life, to help sea creatures whether they understood it or not.

And like the calm before the storm, Miguel hisses like a steam engine when the hatch opens, water well below his chest now, breathing ragged. It’s the closest thing to a panic attack Miles has ever seen on him and the sight tears into his chest. Ramirez takes in a steadying breath before aiming and shooting.

Miguel recoils when the dart pierces his thick skin, making a wounded sound deep within his throat, whipping his tail back and forth in a whirlwind of fury. He’s confused and angry, and there’s so much commotion and thrashing that Miles feels the muscles in his shoulders and neck tighten like screws. Miguel remains in a frenzied state for about 7 more minutes, the drugs slowly taking effect as he begins to calm down. His chest is rising and falling hard, still attempting to back himself further into the corner, hoping it might swallow him whole before he slowly slumps to the floor.

Miles is shaking when they enter the tank to retrieve an unconscious Miguel, stomach in knots, twisting uncomfortably, like he might throw up at any second. He swallows the bile inching up his throat in favor of getting Miguel on the medical bed. From there, things get easier.

His brain works on autopilot, cogs working in tandem with his movements as they check on Miguel’s vitals, his weight, and most importantly, his injuries. Everything is healing as it should, in fact, they’re all astonished by the rapid rate of regeneration Miguel’s body has done, both internally and externally.

“This almost feels impossible,” Peter says, digesting the information with a keen eye, going over Miguel’s radiographs again. His broken bones have fully healed, both his ribs and humerus bone. Miguel’s flukes, as well as all cuts and lacerations were closed, and the wound on his shoulder blade was nothing but a dark scar now. The siren’s weight had decreased a bit, which was to be expected, but they weren’t ready for how rapidly Miguel’s injuries would heal.

Not that any of them were complaining, if anything, a tremendous amount of worry was lifted from their shoulders, but it’s still very intriguing from a scientific standpoint.

“Rapid regeneration?” Pavitr proposes.

“It’s incredible,” Miles praises, admiring Miguel’s tranquil features. He wants to run his fingers through his hair, refrains from doing so out of respect for him.

“Now all we need to do is administer one last batch of antibiotics and Migs will be all good to go,” Peter says after they're done removing the splint from his arm and gathering blood work. Miles is sure the siren will be very happy about that, at least he hopes.

“He’s a fighter,” Gwen says, impressed by Miguel’s healing abilities. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone heal that quickly.”

“Do you think he’ll be ready for a larger tank?” Miles asks the questions that's on everyone’s minds. They all turn toward Peter.

Peter has a hand on his hip, the other gently running his fingers across Miguel’s smooth tail, careful with the barbs. “I think it’s imperative we move him into a larger tank.”

Miles pumps his fists with a cheer, bouncing on the heels of his feet. Hell yeah, this is what he’s been waiting for! Finally, Miguel will have a larger enclosure! One that will allow him to explore and get some much-needed enrichment. Hopefully with a den that he'll be able to hide and feel safe in. Miles couldn’t wait for it.

“What are we waiting for? Let’s get the tank ready!” Miles exclaims.

Thunder echoes in the distance as lightning ignites the sky by the time the day is over. Miles sits watching CCTV footage of a restless Miguel hunkered down in his healing tank. They're preparing his new tank as fast as they can, but for the time being, and to Miles’ dismay, he had to stay in this one for a bit longer.

“Going home yet?” Gwen emerges from the hallway, breaking Mile’s concentration.

“Nah, not yet,“ he answers, nose-deep in a status report and his own sketchbook. “Gonna finish this report, then head home, don’t mind me.”

Gwen gives him a look, knowing how much Miles dedicates himself to a certain task, sometimes at the cost of his own health. “You sure?”

“Yeah.” He smiles. It doesn’t reach his eyes. Truth is, he’s about as restless as Miguel, but he couldn’t let her know that, lest she drag him out of the sanctuary herself. She's done it before.

“We’ll get Miguel into a bigger tank soon.” It’s her way of soothing his nerves. “I know today was really stressful for him, but Miguel will get better, like I said, he’s a fighter. So don't worry too much.”

“I know.”

“Alright Miles, you better head home right after that report is finished and eat dinner like the responsible adult I know you are.”

“Absolutely like the responsible adult you know I am.”

“Right,” she drawls, bidding him farewell.

Miles’ head drops between his shoulders. The report was done hours ago. Nothing is keeping him here glued to the seat except his own winding thoughts, unable to shake the anxiety of today. He’s scared. Scared that Miguel won’t trust him anymore. Scared his condition will worsen overnight. They administered an IV into his bloodstream today, which helps ease Miles’ worries a bit, but he’s more worried about Miguel’s emotional state of mind.

“Agh, I can’t concentrate.” He unconsciously picks at his fro. I need to see him, he thinks, getting up and marching towards Miguel’s temporary enclosure, scanning his keycard to unlock the room. The space is swallowed in darkness as he enters, all except the ambient glow of water reflecting off every surface.

Miles stills, watching Miguel’s sullen form sit in the corner of his tank like a wilted flower. The siren notices Miles straight away, red eyes clashing with honey brown. Miguel frowns and turns away, sending Miles down a spiral of despair.

He deflates, taking with him whatever hope he had of reconciling with Miguel. Of course the siren is still upset, today was a nightmare for him.

Miles works through the sadness and anxiety settling in his gut, ambles towards the tank and sits on the floor at a respectable distance, taking out his art book. No amount of words or actions could convey his concern at the moment, so he settles for letting Miguel know he’s there. Not as a forceful or prodding presence, but as an innocuous one.

Miles hopes he can convey his thoughts.

He sketches Miguel, his most recent fixation, making sure to pay close attention to his strong features. From his high cheekbones to his powerful trunk of a tail. Miguel’s flukes are the most fun to draw, beautiful strokes of blue and red, with lunar-butterfly tips at the end. The siren is so much larger than a mermaid, with strong, defined muscles hugging every portion of his body like a suit. It’s a new body type Miles isn't used to drawing.

The sky opens up with a tranquil downpour by the time Miles finishes his third sketch. He doesn’t know how much time has passed, so enraptured by his own work that he misses the moment Miguel crept closer. Miles notices the siren’s presence out of his peripherals, doesn’t dare move an inch as Miguel hovers over him. I think he wants to know what I’m doing, Miles thinks, swallowing, making continuous strokes with his pen.

Looking up, he locks eyes with Miguel, a candid look settling between them like a blanket. He shows Miguel his drawing, turning his sketchbook over to him. The siren squints his eyes and Miles takes a couple of tentative steps closer.

“It’s you,” Miles says, closer to a whisper as Miguel examines the paper with a curious frown. “Miguel.” He points at the siren’s chest.

Miguel looks up. They stare at each other for a second longer, sharing a moment, locked in a single breath.

Miguel points at his own chest, and Miles' heart leaps with adoration.

Yes, Mile nods, lips turning into a smile as he points at the siren in confirmation. Miguel blinks, as if unsure what to do with the information, then, ever so slowly, lifts his palm to the acrylic, pressing it there.

It’s Miles' turn to stand riveted, phantom sensations of strong fingers interlocking with his own as he places his palm against the glass, right in front of Miguel’s hand.

“You’re incredible,” Miles says.

Chapter Text

“I hope Miguel likes his new tank.” Miles beams as he wipes sweat from his brow.

He’s just spent hours decorating Miguel’s new enclosure with a team of eight other people, all waking up at the ass crack of dawn to get this project finished by the afternoon. Now, they’re watching the fruits of their labor come together in a beautiful array of colors as the tank fills with saltwater.

Miles is ecstatic.

Miguel’s new aquarium is huge, big enough to fit a siren his size and then some. Fully equipped with a platformed edge and a shallow end at the surface to make feeding easier and safer for everyone. Within the tank are various pillared rocks, coral reefs, and oxygenating plants, all sparsely arranged to add a pop of color to his surroundings. But the best part about the tank, Miles would say, is the rocky hide they set up for Miguel, one that resembles a miniature den of sorts where he can rest in. And finally, as a finishing touch, Miles adorned the deep sand bed with an array of seashells, all varying in colors and textures. He doesn’t know if Miguel will appreciate the gesture, he just hopes the siren will do well in his new surroundings.

Like a boy on graduation day, Miles grins from ear to ear, exited. He feels it, the shift in the air, the promise of something good. He hopes his gut feeling doesn't let him down, reminds himself of his father’s advice to always trust it.

“Alright everyone, whaddya say we move the big guy in?” Peter announces in an eager tone, equally as thrilled. “I’m sure Miguel’s anxious to spread his flukes.”

It takes a team of ten to move Miguel this time, not due to lack of efficiency but an upscale in complexity. Miguel is a large and heavy siren, and although he’s lightly sedated and blindfolded, 20% of his motor skills are still intact. The reason behind this is the type of sedative they used this time, a less inhibiting one delivered through the water system instead of an injection.

Although this type of administration is less potent than a dart, it's also less traumatizing for Miguel, who has a bad history with intravenous sedatives. It's a little riskier for Miles and the crew, but more beneficial for the siren’s overall health and wellbeing. So a win-win.

“We’re almost there, big guy,” Miles soothes as they move a groggy Miguel through the hallways on a specialized gurney. It takes all of their combined efforts to remain steady as he shifts his tail lazily, mouth slightly ajar, showcasing his pearly fangs. Miles can't help but smile down at him fondly, impressed by Miguel’s resilience.

It's reassuring to know that, despite everything, he’s still fighting. It means he still has life in him. The sight is a pacifying balm to Miles’ otherwise fried nerves.

“It’s alright, we’re almost there,” he promises again, grunting with exertion as they double their efforts. Miguel stirs, slowly regaining consciousness and letting them know by moving his tail to and fro. One particular tail flick forces some biologists to be thrown off kilter, basking in the deep, guttural rumbling sound that expels from Miguel’s chest. It’s loud, not unlike a lion's chuff, surprising the entire team.

“Woah!” Peni beams. “Sounds so cool!”

“We better hurry.” Peter ushers them into Miguel’s new enclosure, swaying from the sheer size of him. With a lot of effort, they heave Miguel off of the gurney and gently place him in the shallow end. Carefully, they nudge him deeper, gradually moving him toward the deeper end of the platform where it naturally tapers into a steep precipice. Miguel growls sluggishly, registering bodies around him but unable to do much about it. Miles stands in the water with him, releasing his blindfold and backing away quickly before watching Miguel writhe on his stomach, tail cracking the surface of the water with force. They watch with bated breaths as the siren wriggles his way in deeper, like a moth drawn to a flame, until he reaches the end of the shallow platform and sinks into the icy waters below.

Enthusiastic cheers filter the air around them at the sight, with Mile’s heart pounding triumphantly. “How’s he doing down there, Gwen?” He asks through the walkie-talkie as Gwen observes Miguel’s movements from the bottom level.

“He’s still getting a hold of his bearings but Miguel’s doing beautifully.”

Thank God, Miles breathes, unconsciously clutching the walkie to his chest, jumping when a hand lands on his shoulder. It’s Peter and his smile is the size of the moon.

“You did good, kid. Everyone did!” He commends the entire team, watching the vigor in their eyes sparkle like jewels. “Another job well done, now what do you all say we let the big guy settle in and get some food for ourselves? Lunch’s on me!”

Another wave of cheers filters through the air and Miles snorts when Peter loops an arm over his shoulders. They all make their way to the cafeteria, not before Miles steals one final glance at the placid waters behind him.

Miguel is nowhere in sight when they return, no doubt tucked somewhere behind a rock or resting in his den. Miles can’t help the slight pinch of disappointment on his features at the quietude.

“Must be hiding behind a rock or something,” Peter offers, thinking the same. “You know how cranky he gets after sedation.”

“True, but I hope he ain’t mad at us,” Miles says, searching the tank for a spec of red and blue.

“He might be a little irritated seeing as how we manhandled him a bit, but I doubt he’s angry. I feel like an intelligent creature such as Miguel, understands that we’re trying to help him, at least I hope.”

Miles hopes Peter is right, for all of their sakes.

Despite how promising the morning went, they don’t see Miguel for the rest of the day, and although Miles is concerned, he understands some creatures need more time than others. Some need to be left alone entirely, especially after being taken out of their comfort zone. It reminds Miles of Whiskers, his childhood cat, an orange tabby with a penchant for hiding underneath his bed after a trip to the vet.

Miles sighs, taking one final glance at Miguel’s tank before leaving the sanctuary with a heavy heart.

“Ay, mijo, please make sure you’re careful around that big orca, papi,” Rio says over the phone, concern clear in her voice. “No quiero que te pase lo mismo que esa muchacha en Sea World, what was her name?” She snaps her fingers in attempted recollection.

“Dawn Brancheau, mami,” Miles supplies as he stirs his Mac and Cheese, standing comfortably in his apartment’s kitchenette in a pair of loose basketball shorts and a white T, Bluetooth headphones over his ears. So he might have slipped up and told his mother about Miguel, well, not entirely about Miguel. She believes Miguel is an orca they rescued off the shore, which isn’t entirely out of the ordinary since they have rehabilitated orcas before, but he still feels a shred of guilt for altering some details about Miguel to her.

“Yes her, pobrecita, tan joven. That’s why you need to be extra careful, me escuchas?”

“Si mami.”

“En fin, what’s the orca’s name again? Miguel? Strange name for an orca, don’t you think, mijo?” She chuckles.

Miles smiles. “Yeah, it kinda is but you know how Peter is, he used a name automator because no one could decide on one, and we all kinda rolled with it.”

“Ay pues, ese Peter. How are you feeling though? Are you eating well? Don’t make me come over there and feed you myself,” Rio teases, wrapping Miles up in a warm hug of concern with her words.

He wishes he could hug his mom for real.

“Si, mami, everything is good. How’s dad?” Because he hasn't talked to his dad in a while, both their occupations taking most of their time.

“He’s doing good, you know him, always busy with a new case. He thinks he might be promoted to police captain soon, he’s very excited about that. He’s been meaning to call you but, you know how he is, the memory of a butterfly.”

Miles snorts. “Yeah, I know. Tell him I said hi though, and that I miss him, and love him and I’ll visit soon.”

“Of course, mi amor, I’ll tell him to call you soon. Te amo, Miles.”

“Y you a ti, mami.”

“And Miles?” A pause. “Remember that you can accomplish anything you set your mind and heart on, even if it's taming a big stubborn orca because you're my special little boy, remember that.”

Miles wants to cry.

The sight alone makes him want to scream in satisfaction.

Miguel is out and about in his new tank, looking brighter and healthier today than he has in the past two weeks. Even his colors look more vibrant and it's a sight to see. Not only is the siren doing more than swimming around, he’s even rearranged a couple of things in his new space overnight.

“Will you look at that.” Peter admires from somewhere behind Miles, equally as fascinated. “Looks like he even color-coded them.”

He’s referring to the multitude of seashells Miles placed in and around Miguel’s tank, all scattered about haphazardly in hopes of mimicking the ocean floor. Miles worked hard on it the day prior, all with a singular thought of— I hope he likes it—running through his mind .

Now, the shells lie arranged in piles according to their size and color, nestled beside pillars of rocks in a designated area of the tank. It’s like Miguel is decorating his new home, and the notion makes Miles’s skin buzz with excitement.

He looks at Miguel who is already staring at him through the acrylic, disarming him with those red eyes of his. The siren wears a face of cautious observation, as if Miles is an intricate labyrinth of mysteries set before him. Miles smiles up at him, takes tentative steps towards the tank and watches as Miguel turns away with an upturn of his nose. Ever the sassy siren.

“Spicy little drama king, isn't he?” Peter chuckles.

“We did kind of irritate him yesterday,” Miles points out, relieved that Miguel seems to be enjoying his new space. It makes him warm all over. “I’m just glad he’s doing better.”

“Now let's see if he’s willing to eat.”

Without further preamble, they fit into their wetsuits and head over to the top section of Miguel’s enclosure, walking into the feeding area. It's all contained in a large, spacious blue room, secured by a specialized keycard lock that only certain personnel have access to. They haul large buckets of euthanized fish with them, hoping Miguel will be hungry enough to take them anyway. On the way there, Miles snags an MMC and his laptop just in case the fish aren't incentive enough for the siren to surface, because if it's anything Miguel is, it's stubborn.

“Miguel!” Peter shouts once they're in the enclosure, standing a respectful distance from the ledge and blowing his whistle a couple of times.

“Do you think he even knows his name?” Miles asks, brow raised.

“Doesn’t hurt to try.” Peter shrugs and Miles shrugs too. Guess he’s right, so he throws a fish in the water and watches as it floats and bobs with the motion before saying, “Miguel! Breakfast!” He throws another fish and watches as the first one sinks below the surface. From their vantage point they can see Miguel gliding down below in a refraction of colors, keeping his distance from them but taking the fish that sink to the bottom.

“At least he’s eating,” Miles notes, sitting on his haunches after he realizes the siren isn't coming up.

“He might still be annoyed with us,” Peter chuckles, documenting information in his Alchemax tablet. “Why don’t you try using the MMC, Miles?”

“Sure.”

He attaches the device to his laptop and sets it to the side, contemplating whether he should put it in the water or not, before shaking his head and placing it on the floor by his feet. Much safer here, away from Miguel’s prying claws. From here the sound won’t be as intense in the water, but at least Miguel won’t be able to destroy it…in theory…

“Here goes nothing,” Miles says before playing the sound of a Sperm Whale’s coda, a series of clicks he’s discovered catches Miguel’s attention more than the Beluga whistles or the dolphin clicks. He attempts the call a couple of times and is close to switching it to a different signal when a pair of angry eyes poke out of the water.

“Miles!” Peter whispers.

“I know, I know,” Miles whispers back, admiring the red hue of Miguel’s eyes as he glares at them. Miles smiles from ear to ear, finding the way the siren’s hair sticks to his face endearing. He crouches closer to the edge, carefully grabbing a fish and extending it out to Miguel.

“Miles…” Peter warns, voice low. “What are you doing?”

He doesn’t answer, caught in the spell of Miguel’s eyes as he presents the fish to the siren, who blinks at it and then up at Miles, as if scandalized. The gap, Miles thinks, I’m bridging the—

His face is met with a burst of water Miguel spits from his mouth before diving back into the depths of his tank. Peter burst into laughter next to him, clutching his stomach from the force of it. Miles deadpans, face drenched and shoulders dropping. He sighs. What an asshole. Miguel and Peter both.

“He seems fond of you, kid.” Peter wipes a tear from his eyes, snatching a towel for Miles to wipe his face with.

“Could've fooled me,” he shoots back sarcastically.

“Thing is, I don’t even know if Miguel is being playful or territorial,” Parker takes a couple more notes in his tablet. “I’m leaning more towards playful but could be both.”

“Well, at least he isn’t hissing and growling like before. He did look personally offended though.”

“Don’t count your chickens just yet, our lovely siren friend might have more tricks up his fins.” Peter pats his back, and of course, Miles realizes he might have to bear the brunt of those ‘tricks’ but he doesn’t mind really, as long as he can learn something new about Miguel, or even get an inch closer, it’s all worth it, he thinks.

So Miles spends most of his time by Miguel’s tank attempting to lure him out by offering fish, trying to talk to him using the MMC, or by hanging around to get him used to his presence. The progress is slow, grueling at times and Miles is sure Miguel finds him annoying. The siren himself isn’t too keen on letting himself be seen by anyone—at all . Even at feeding time, Miguel doesn’t surface until Miles puts some distance between them. He is eating though, which is a good sign. Baby steps, Miles tells himself. Baby steps.

And with as much time and effort as he’s spending thinking and working with Miguel, it’s no surprise Miles has developed somewhat of a little infatuation with the siren. That’s not to say he’s obsessed with Miguel in an odd way, it’s mainly out of concern and fascination more than anything. Miguel is the first ever siren to be documented and Miles is honored to be a part of his story. Not only that, but Miguel has such a personality to him that it's hard not to be drawn. Now if only he could get the siren to trust him.

“Let’s see if you’re willing to come up for me this time,” Miles says to himself as he enters Miguel’s enclosure that morning.

Two months have passed since they’ve transferred the siren to his new aquarium and slowly but surely, Miles feels like he’s gained a bit of trust with Miguel. It's nothing to write home about, sure, most days Miguel still refuses to surface or greet him, but more often than not, the siren pokes his head out of the water and observes him carefully.

Today, Miles hopes he can catch Miguel in a good mood, and it's while he’s setting up for the morning that movement out of the corner of his eye catches his attention. Curious, he turns and is surprised to find Miguel already watching him. Only his eyes are visible though, like an alligator basking on the surface of the water.

“Miguel, how's your morning?” Miles tries, smiling down at the siren who swims closer to the edge of the tank. He’s being extremely bold today, Miles thinks, watching the siren’s sharp eyes blink up at him. Maybe he’s hungry? Miles hasn't dared use the shallow end of the pool to feed Miguel yet, in fact, the area is still closed off so the siren doesn’t escape or pull anyone under. Miles plays it safe and stands where it’s difficult for the siren to reach him, fetching the feeding bucket quickly.

“Is this what you want?” Miles dangles a fish by the tail, immediately dodging a jet of water shot from Miguel’s mouth, already accustomed to the siren's aquatic ‘attacks’. It’s become somewhat of a game honestly, and Miguel growls disapprovingly, sinking and blowing petulant bubbles. Miles smirks down at him.

“Thought you could get m—ACK!”

A large wave of water drenches Miles in a matter of seconds as Miguel cracks his tail against the surface, propelling a wave his way. The freezing water hits his skin and soaks into his clothes, making him suck in an acute gasp. The water is frigid. Perfect temperature for a siren. Electrifying for a human.

Pleased, Miguel floats on his back with his hands behind his head triumphantly, as if in the aftermath of an award ceremony.

“Think you’re hot shit, huh?” Miles grumbles, grabbing a fish and chucking it at Miguel’s face, silently hoping it smacks him right in the forehead. The siren catches the fish between his fangs with lightning-fast reflexes though, scarfing it down in a few bites. Miles blinks, amazed.

“Huh, that’s pretty cool, can you do it again?” He throws another fish and this time, Miguel catches it with a solid grip and throws it back.

“Hey, you’re wasting your food!” Miles quips, barely able to catch the soaring fish. “Here, just—can you take it gently?” He offers and kneels closer to the edge, mindful of how close he gets. Miguel glares suspiciously at him, but slowly, inches closer to Miles’ extended hand.

Miles knows he shouldn’t do this. Peter has warned him against initiating close contact with Miguel, especially without supervision, which is exactly the case now. He’s alone with a large and powerful predator, trying to hand-feed him fish like a treat. Heart pounding, Miles quiets his breathing as Miguel swims closer, equally as cautious as him.

Just a little more. He’s almost there.

Miguel stops short of reaching the fish, floating there with a slightly suspicious pout, as if contemplating his next move. Only his eyes are fully above water, reminding Miles so much of an alligator which does little to quell his raging nerves. It’s too late to back out now though.

Slowly, Miguel comes closer until he’s inches from Miles’ hand and, with his teeth, takes the Mackerel into his open jaws. What surprises Miles further though, is that the siren doesn’t swim away immediately like he thought he would, instead, Miguel floats there, chewing his meal. Cautiously, Miles feeds Miguel another, and another, until the bucket is empty. Empowered by the progress, he makes the rash decision of reaching out and attempting to touch Miguel’s hair.

Big mistake.

The siren seizes Miles’ wrist in a strong grip almost instantly, locking him in, stopping the brunet from touching him. Miles gulps, paralyzed. He willingly got himself in this situation, caught by Miguel who could yank him under at any moment. Peter is going to kill him, if Miguel doesn’t do it first.

Miguel tilts his head, bringing Miles’ hand to his nose and taking tentative sniffs of his skin. It’s curiosity more than anything, Miles notes, and it almost tickles. Miles smothers the need to draw back his hand, watching as the siren presses his nose to his palm, and then, before he registers what's happening, a rough tongue runs across the center of his palm to the tips of his fingers. Miles makes a noise and squirms.

He wants Miguel to let go now, and attempts to draw back his hand only for Miguel’s grip to tighten. The siren doesn’t budge an inch and with how strong he is, there's no way Miles is escaping on his own.

Crap!

“Miguel,” Miles tries, his voice cracking before he clears it as the siren licks another stripe up his palm again, this time with more teeth. Electricity shoots through Miles as he watches and feels Miguel’s long tongue run against his skin, rough and slimy all in the same beat. He groans in odd mixtures of discomfort and fear, and a little bit of awe too. Holy shit, holy shit!

“Miles!?” A voice breaks the tension—Peter! He’s shouting from the entrance and Miles nearly cries in happiness when he makes his way toward them. “What the hell is going on here? Didn’t I warn you about this!”

“I can explain!” Miles pleads.

He hears Miguel emit a low growl, watches as he glares at Peter before diving in the water, only to emerge seconds later and try to splash him with water using a powerful strike of his tail.

“Woah! Easy there big fella!” Peter steps back before the water can hit him. “Miles, get over here!”

Miles scrambles to his feet, almost tripping next to Peter in his haste.

“Care to explain?” Peter taps his foot.

Miles blinks owlishly, grimacing at his palm coated in saliva. “We…bonded?”

“Bonded, huh?” Peter frowns, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You can’t keep risking yourself like that, kid.“ Peter guides Miles out of the enclosure and into a washroom so Miles can clean his hands. “What part of ‘dangerous, apex predator’, don’tcha understand?”

“I know, I know, listen—it’s just—well—“ All excuses fail him at that moment. “Every day I’m getting this much closer to earning his trust and I got carried away, okay? He did hurt me though.”

“Yeah he didn’t hurt you but that doesn’t mean you should keep risking yourself and him like that. We’re still studying his behavior after all. I know Miguel is intelligent and he looks extremely human, but he’s still a dangerous predator, Miles, I need you to respect that.”

“Yeah, you’re right, I screwed up, Pete. Sorry.”

Peter sighs, snorting. “Can’t leave you alone for two seconds can I?” He nudges Miles' shoulder. “Trouble child.”

“Come on man, it won’t happen again, okay?”

“Sure, trouble child, sure.”

“Hey!”

Peter smiles good-naturedly, patting his back. “You know, you haven’t checked on the mermaids at all this week, you’ve been spending all of your time in Miguel’s enclosure this past month and Beña misses you, man.” Peter squeezes his shoulder. “Why don’t you take a breather from working with Miguel and check on them for now, let Gwen, Peni and Pav have their ‘bonding moments’ with him.”

Miles shrugs, smile dropping just a fraction, barely noticeable. “Yeah, I guess you’re right...”

He knows Peter is right, but he still doesn’t want to stop seeing Miguel.

Chapter Text

Miles wakes to the sound of morning doves cooing by his bedroom window. Slowly, he lifts the sheets from his body, rubbing his eyes with rough knuckles and a yawn. It's ungodly early and cold as he slips into his slippers and heads for the bathroom, his mind set on a morning jog. It’s not exactly part of his routine, it’s more of a pro re nata kind of thing, usually due to stress or wanting to sort out an odd feeling in his gut.

Jogs help clear his mind and get his priorities straight, which is exactly what he needs now. A reality check. Miguel is not his property. He’s not some mural he’s got dibs on that no one else can work on except him. He has a team of brilliant and caring marine biologists who are just as dedicated as him and want to help learn about Miguel just like him. They’re his friends, his peers, and whatever nagging feeling settling below his marrow like a thorn needs to be discarded.

Plus, Peter was right, Miles has left all of his other duties in the sanctuary unattended and neglected all because he wants to learn more about Miguel, which isn’t necessarily a bad thing when done in moderation. It’s a lesson as old as time. But in all honesty, he has tunnel vision ever since Miguel came into their care. It’s what happens when one of his fascinations appears right before him like a beacon to a stranded sailor, he can’t help but gravitate to it.

That mentality needs to stop now though.

“You look like a train ran over you, mate. Get much sleep?” Hobie greets Miles as they bump into each other at the sanctuary entrance. He’s come to enjoy Hobie’s keen sense of observation and candid nature, never wasting time to tell it to you straight even at the expense of your feelings, which is exactly what he needs sometimes. It makes sense seeing as how the guy is part of high security, and he manages his job extremely well.

“It’s what a morning jog does to you I guess.” Miles shrugs.

“Morning jog? In this weather? You’ve lost your bloody mind.” Hobbie smirks, shaking his head.

“You should try it sometime. Clears the mind,” he suggests, walking backward to keep eye contact.

“I’ll stick to my bed sheets and morning brew, love.”

Miles snorts and keeps walking with determination until he reaches the changing room and slips into a wetsuit, picking up a company tablet on his way, and checking off emails he’s left on read for a couple of days. Honestly, how did he let it get this bad? He goes back to his morning To-do list like a fresh new minty green newbie and sighs, he hasn't looked at this in a while, not since he got used to working here. Time to go back to his roots it seems as he starts with feeding and checking up on the mermaids and belugas, then it’s off to cleaning the Epaulette shark enclosure and so on and so forth. Miles has a busy day ahead of himself and he’s not going to let his conflicting thoughts damper his mood.

“Is he always like this?” Gwen passionately motions with her hands and face, all while holding a lettuce wrap in one hand. “I mean, he took one look at me and tried splashing me with water!”

“That sounds about right,” Miles agrees with a nod of his head, digging into his own food without much fanfare. “Miguel is cranky in the mornings, he’s ‘tamer’ in the evenings. Try giving him some ice in the bucket, he likes crunching on those.”

“You really know Miguel well, huh, Miles,” Peni adds, amazed. “You were able to hand feed him too, he really trusts you now, huh?”

Miles pauses, blinking. “Yeah, I guess we got close.”

“Tell me your secrets maaaaan,” Gwen drawls, leaning against Miles’ shoulder for dramatic effect. “He refused to eat this morning.”

“He didn’t eat?” Miles straightens up, concerned.

“Yup, the fish I threw in his aquarium are still lying at the bottom of his tank last time I checked. I feel like I screwed up somehow, man this sucks.”

“We should tell Peter about this,” Peni urges.

Miles looks down at his food with a frown, deep in a thunderstorm of conflicting thoughts. He should go see Miguel, maybe he’s refusing to eat because Gwen is a new face to him, maybe he just needs to trust her and get to know her a little more.

“I’ll go with you next time it’s feeding time, maybe he needs a familiar face to get to trust you first.”

“That’s probably it.” Gwen sighs with a nod of her head, finishing the last of her meal. “He just needs to trust me.”

Miguel refuses to eat.

It’s been two days since his last meal and Miles doesn't know what to do anymore.

After going along with Gwen the other day there was no sign of Miguel at all, even looking for him from base level revealed nothing, not even a flash of red. He must’ve tucked himself behind a rock or something, clearly not interested in showing himself, so they left him be for now, but deep inside an anxious trickle dripped down Miles’ mind. 

He didn’t get much sleep that night, tossing and turning as if battling a nightmare. It was taxing but Miles pushed through, trying to focus on the positives. Unfortunately, the next day wasn't much better, and according to Gwen, Miguel still refused to come up for food and even began destroying a lot of the smaller rocks around his aquarium.

Miles is beyond concerned now. It makes him worry his lip and nails down until they bleed, all made worse by the fact that Miguel refused to greet him too. 

What went wrong?

Did they offend him somehow? Give him fish that made him sick? Was the aquarium not big enough? Did the space stress him out? Had Gwen done something? Or worse, did he do something wrong? Is it because he hadn’t visited?

“Maybe you weren’t kidding about the bonding thing with Miguel, Miles.” Peter snaps Miles out of his rampaging thoughts like a shattering of glass.

“What?”

“I mean I have a theory,” he continues without elaborating, caught up in his own mental note-taking and problem-solving, making Miles pause expectantly.

“Can you be more specific?” Miles prompts.

“Miguel got familiar with seeing you by his tank every day, right? Even though he looked angry half the time, he still got familiarized with your presence and your personality. Hell, maybe even your scent, we don't really know. The point is, you formed a bond with him, and that bond might be something sacred to sirens, just like a bond is important to mermaids.”

“I was thinking the same.”

“Except, it’s a little different from a mermaid's bond I think, we’ll have to study it a little more to figure out the finer details, but after you stopped showing up regularly he began acting up again—refusing food, destroying things in his enclosure, not letting us see him anymore. It’s like he reverted back to the first day we rescued him. So I got to thinking—what if sirens form strong bonds like mermaids do? And if broken or tampered with causes them tremendous stress? What if Miguel feels resentment because, in his mind, you “abandoned” him and—“

“I didn’t abandon him!” Miles all but yells, puffing up like a ruffled cat. “I stopped showing up because you told me to.” He points an accusing finger at Peter. “I never wanted to do that!”

“Right, but Miguel doesn’t know that, to him, you stopped showing up. Is it possible that he feels a sense of resentment over that?”

Miles turns away with a frustrated lock of his jaw, fists clenching, brows knit. The sigh he lets out is heavily laced with aggravation. “If Miguel hates me, it’s your fault.”

“I take responsibility.” Peter nods sympathetically, holding his hands up in surrender. “Listen, Miles, I’m sorry, okay? I didn’t know this would be the outcome, I really didn't. I figured he would be like the mermaids and not mind the absence so much. I didn't know this would affect Miguel the way it did, not to this degree at least.”

Miles crossed his arms, hurt by the knowledge that they might have unintentionally hurt Miguel. “So what do we do now? We unknowingly jeopardize my progress with him and he doesn’t trust me anymore. He won’t even come up to see me.”

“It’s a slippery slope.” Peter nods, a look of careful concentration on his face. “Because on one hand, we don’t want him getting too attached to you since it might be a detriment to him once we release him back into the ocean. On the other hand, we don’t want him wasting away in there either. It’s risky but we have to form that bond between you two again, show him that you care, that you are there for him.” Peter pauses, locking eyes with Miles. “You have to get in the water with him.”

“WHAT!?” Miles shouts, eyes growing wide. “Isn’t that exactly the opposite of what you told me to do!? The thing that got us in this predicament in the first place!” He can’t help but yell at Peter. All that agonizing just to be proven right and go back to square one.

“I know, I know, but that’s before I realized what we were dealing with. Now we have to look at things from a different angle, a very interesting and dangerous angle, mind you. But now the only thing that’s left is your decision…are you comfortable with risking everything by getting in the water with him? I won’t force you if you’re not absolutely comfortable with this idea.”

Miles takes a deep breath, swallowing, the gravity of the situation weighed heavily on his mind and shoulders. This could go wrong in so many ways and so quickly, in the blink of an eye even. Sure, he formed a bond with Miguel that is now tenebrous at best, but is it really enough to get in the water with him? Miles isn’t sure but one thing is clear in his mind—he can’t stand another second of Miguel thinking he abandoned him. It didn’t sit right with him.

“I’ll do it.”

“We’ll be watching you from the surveillance room right across the hall, okay?” Peter reminds Miles as he gets ready to enter Miguel’s enclosure. “If something happens, we’ll be there in a matter of seconds to help you.”

If something happens, huh? Worst case scenario Miguel will try to kill him, and if that's the case well….what can his team do in that situation? Miles is certain he’d die if the siren really wanted it, and they’ll probably kill Miguel afterward too.

The thought upturns his stomach, and all Miles can do is shake his head, not wanting to think about that. He gives his team a reassuring nod before showing his keycard and twisting the metal handle to go in. He’s greeted by tranquil icy waters and an empty room, tension thick in the air like fog. It’s quiet. Pin-drop quiet, but Miles steps forward anyway, wanting to see Miguel.

“Miguel,” He calls out from the ledge before he even sets foot in the water, hoping the siren will come up by some sheer luck and maybe Miles can gauge his temperament. It might make things easier, maybe clear the waters so to speak. If Miguel surfaced with a frown, maybe he could step into the water. If Miguel wielded a death stare maybe Miles shouldn’t step in at all.

It would be nice knowing at least.

Miguel doesn't give him the luxury of surfacing though, and Miles sucks in a sharp breath as he stares at the aquarium. The next step is using bait to draw him up. There are levels to this, and the more he can prolong going in the water the better. He grabs a mackerel and kneels before the edge of the aquarium, slapping the fish against the water in hopes of getting Miguel’s attention. He does this for a couple of minutes, throwing his name out a couple of times in the process. Please work, he agonizes. Please work!

Nothing.

“Shit,” Miles curses, getting up, knees aching from the weight of his worries and anxiety. I’m sorry, Miguel, he thinks. Please, just let me see you.

Miles’ last-ditch attempt to coax Miguel out of his hiding place is by using the MMC. It’s the same device he’d used to bridge the gap between them before and he hopes—prays it might do the trick again. “Please work,” he insists before hooking it up to his laptop and playing a signal that echoes throughout the entire enclosure. Miguel has to know it’s him reaching out to him now. No one else uses the MMC to communicate with the siren but him.

“Please.” Miles tries different notes for about ten minutes. Nothing. His heart is lurching in his chest, palms breaking out into a cold sweat despite wearing specialized gloves to keep them insulated. Miles takes a moment to calm his heart and mind, does some breathing exercises his uncle Aaron taught him once when he got into boxing one summer.

It’s time.

He had to go in there, didn’t he?

Every step Miles takes towards the shallow end feels heavier and heavier. Every noise around him heightened, to the point that he can hear his own heartbeat pounding in his chest, which despite the breathing exercises, is accelerating painfully as he arrives at the shallow pool of Miguel’s tank. There’s no siren in sight, he makes sure to double-check before he takes the first, tentative step inside. And then another, and another, until the water reaches his shins.

One small step for man, one large step for humankind.

Or something along those lines. Miles couldn't think straight right now, head too jumbled up with nerves and troubled thoughts. Jaw clenched tightly, he fights back a hiss when the cold waters reach his belly.

And then, everything goes silent, and his ears ring.

In the distance, a pair of red eyes are locked on him like a target.

Miles swallows.

It’s reminiscent of the first time they met, the way Miles took a leap of faith and landed inside a pool that could have very well ended his life. Now, things weren't much different, except now, Miles knew exactly who he was facing.

Poetic, he thinks, as he locks eyes with Miguel, who has yet to make a move closer or further away from him. He doesn’t know whether that's a good sign or a bad sign. In short, they're both standing their ground, waiting for the other to cave and make a move first.

“Miguel,” Miles greets him softly, like a poem. “It’s me, Miles.” He pats his own chest, watching Miguel track every movement like a hawk, and it bothers Miles how he can’t quite discern his full expression since it’s halfway submerged underwater. Miguel’s image is mostly distorted and it does nothing to help his nerves. “Miles,” he repeats, patting his chest again. It’s then that Miles notices he’s trembling.

He swallows before taking one step closer, taking a slow drag of air into his lungs with a swipe of his tongue. “I’m sorry I didn’t show up for a while. I’m sorry if I hurt you. I didn’t mean for it to happen like that.” He doesn’t know if Miguel understands him or not, hopes the tenor of his voice conveys his feelings well.

Miguel doesn’t move, only observe and Miles doesn’t know what's worse, a calm siren or an agitated one. Then, like a flash of lightning, Miguel slingshots toward him like a bullet train all at once. The alarms go off in Miles’ head before he can even scream as two strong hands seize his ankles, and in the blink of an eye, he’s yanked underwater.

There’s no sound here either, only the distinct ringing of his ears as the waters envelop him whole. There’s darkness all around him. His eyes are shut tight, and he realizes he’s floating but he’s not….dead…that’s good…right?

Slowly, Miles opens them.

Miguel’s face greets him like a cool ocean breeze, floating there right in front of him, gazing at him with a look he can’t describe. He’s holding Miles by his forearms now, swaying them in gentle circles akin to a ballet of some kind. Miles’ eyes bulge wide, fighting to not let a single breath of oxygen escape his lungs as he wraps his arms around Miguel’s neck for support.

This isn’t exactly bad. Not yet at least, not until his body freezes to death or his oxygen runs out. Does Miguel understand he can’t breathe underwater?

Like a warning, Miles’ chest heaves with the force of his lungs, and he gags a little. He tries kicking his feet, pointing up, hoping Miguel will understand his urgent need for air. Miguel looks up, then back at Miles. He brings their noses closer, almost touching, and with a powerful flick of his tail, they soar through the water and break the surface.

He gasps like he’s been reborn.

“Miles!”

There are people and commotion all around him, all frenzied and chaotic. The surface is in an uproar as Miles coughs his lungs out. He holds out his palm for them to stop, begging them to give them a moment before they shoot Miguel with a dart or whatever they plan to do.

“Wa—aith,” he gasps, holding onto Miguel for support, shivering violently. “Igsnot—hughrting—m-ne.”

“Miles are you okay?” Peter’s voice breaks through the commotion, loud and worried, filling Miles with comfort.

“O-oka-ay,” he says, lightheaded. “Good.”

Miguel looks around agitated, frowns when his eyes land on Peter before slowly guiding Miles back to the shallow end of the pool. A team is ready to snatch Miles up in a thermal blanket that doubles as a towel the moment he stumbles onto solid ground. Peter doesn’t take his eyes off Miguel, who stares him down unyieldingly. What Peter wouldn't give to be able to read minds at this very moment.

Miguel spares them a final glance before diving back into the depths of his tank, and this is how they discover Miguel refuses to be fed by anyone other than Miles.

Chapter Text

“I wish you’d let us hear your voice, Miguel.”

Miles sits on the edge of Miguel’s tank, his feet halfway submerged in the frigid waters, watching the siren fill his belly with fish and ice. The wetsuit does its job of keeping him dry and insulated, though it doesn't completely stop the chill from running up his spine. Miles bears the cold for Miguel though, because they’ve gotten closer these past few weeks, enough that he’s allowed to set foot in his domain like this.

Ever since they bonded again their relationship has grown solid and firm, perhaps even firmer than before, and he’s socializing Miguel by conditioning him to his presence. It will help them monitor his health better, especially if they can perform Miguel’s blood draw and check-up without the nightmare of having to put him under sedation.

Nightmare is an understatement really, so far, checkups have been literal hell for both Miguel and the staff, especially for Miles who can’t stand seeing the siren go through the process of being sedated again. It’s a pain even getting him to come up from his den on check-up day, it’s like Miguel has a sixth sense for those kinds of things and refuses to come up at all. The siren struggles without remorse, and after it’s all said and done he ignores them all and sulks in his den for the rest of the day, sometimes carrying over to the next.

It’s not a good time for either of them.

This is why socializing Miguel is crucial at this point, especially for his mental health. Putting the siren through tremendous amounts of stress every other month can cause irreversible damage that they won’t notice until it’s too late. This is why socializing him will get Miguel comfortable enough to hopefully get rid of sedation altogether. They only really sedate him for their own safety, since a needle going into his skin might cause a violent reaction or even fleeing, both not ideal for their cause. 

So Miles spends a lot of time with Miguel, getting him used to humans in and around his area. It’s a balance of things. Miles can’t spend too much time with Miguel or else it will affect him in the long run, and he can’t spend too much time away or another incident like before might happen too. It’s frustrating, to say the least, and either way, it feels like it will burn Miguel in the end, which makes Miles feel horrible, but what can he do?

“I just wish I could tell you I don’t mean to hurt you,” Miles says, staring into the siren’s big red eyes, who looks up at him with intrigue. “I want you to know that everything I do, it’s for your benefit, Miguel.”

Miguel tilts his head, those sharp, red eyes trying desperately to discern what Miles is saying. Miles can practically see the cogs turning in his head, unable to express himself in a way that Miles will understand, at least not yet. An idea pops into his head then, and with a flutter of lashes, he scurries off to the right side of the room, Miguel following him as far as the tank will allow.

“Maybe pictures will do the trick,” Miles says, grabbing a company tablet and opening the web browser on a new tab, typing in the name of a sea creature Miguel might recognize—an octopus, more specifically, a cute little Dumbo Octopus.

“This might not get you to vocalize but maybe you’ll recognize it.” Miles clicks on an image and zooms in, kneeling on the ledge where Miguel is curiously waiting for him. Miles turns the tablet over and lets Miguel peer at the image, his eyes blink with recognition and hesitation, before reaching out with a wet hand and touching the screen, luckily the tablet is mandatory water-proof so Miles is in no hurry to reel it back. Miguel runs his hands over the screen, confused by the concept of a picture.

“O c t o p u s,” Miles says slowly, pointing at the image. “Have you seen one of these octopus before?” He asks, happy that Miguel seems to recognize the image, and by the looks of it, it’s not with hostility or hunger, but with a strange familiarity. It catches him a little by surprise when the siren noses the tablet gently as if trying to smell the octopus through the screen.

“Dumbo Octopus,” Miles says slowly, pointing at the image again. “D u m b o O c t o p u s.”

Miguel tilts his head again in that cute way he does when he’s trying to understand something, watching Miles’ lips move with the motion. He opens his mouth too, tries mimicking the action, no sound comes out though, but he does act like he’s holding a tablet in his hand and points at it like Miles is.

“Yes, yes, you’re almost there!” Miles preens, fascinated. “Dumbo Octopus.”

Miguel opens his mouth wider, wide enough for Miles to get a good peek at those large, pearly incisors in his mouth. The siren dives quickly, only to reemerge seconds later with cheeks full of water to blast Miles’ face with liquid.

“ACK—-“ he sputters, almost falling back on his ass while Miguel plays innocent. “Cheeky bastard,” Miles mutters, wiping his face with a towelette. He doesn’t give in though, and spends a couple more minutes showing Miguel a series of images, mainly of marine wildlife, and pronouncing their name. It seems Miguel is having a hard time figuring out the concept of pictures, every time he sees an image he frowns and lightly claws the screen, wanting to examine the creature further.

“Picture,” Miles explains, tapping the screen. “It’s not alive, it’s just a picture.” Miguel frowns even more, clearly a little frustrated with it all, trying to reach out and take the tablet for himself. Miles moves it away from his grabby hands with a snort. “Greedy,” he whispers. “I can’t let you have this, you’ll just destroy it, plus I don’t think it’s any use to you underwater.” He thinks of a new image. “Oh, I wonder how you’ll react to a squid, those should be familiar to you, right?” Miguel blinks at him, the curls of his hair tightening as they dry, a testament to how entertained he is by this.

“Let's see if you recognize this creature,” Miles says, turning the tablet over after finding a picture of a rather large squid. Miguel bristles at the sight, his red eyes taking on a sharp undertone as they dilate wide with recognition and horror. It’s a violent and jarring reaction that Miles didn’t see coming, Miguel’s facial features morphing into a twist of anger and confusion as his spikes flare up. In the blink of an eye, Miguel swipes at the tablet with a powerful strike of his claws, damaging it heavily and knocking it out of Miles’ hands. The attack nearly misses Miles' skin by only a small margin, making his chest seize and his stomach drop, flinching back as the tablet lands in the water. Miguel spares the device no mercy as he trashes and eviscerates it before taking it in his jaws and sinking it to the bottom of his tank.

Miles is left gasping for air, eyes wide with aftershock and confusion as if in the aftermath of an earthquake. Footsteps are running towards him but his mind is frozen by what just occurred that he doesn't realize someone is calling his name until hands are pulling him from the edge.

“Miles, are you okay? Miles!” It’s Gwen, she's inspecting his person, making sure there's no injuries of any kind. Miles snaps out of his stupor with a shake of his head.

“Fine—“ He stands on shaky legs, still catching his breath. “I’m fine, just—shocked.”

“What happened?”

“I was showing Miguel pictures of different animals and—when I showed him a picture of a squid he…” Got scared? Angry? Defensive? All three? Miles doesn’t know, he doesn’t know why Miguel reacted the way he did. “He got upset and swiped at the tablet, he didn’t mean to do that, it was my fault! I shouldn't have shown him a picture of a potential predator—I’m so stupid!”

“Miles it’s okay, don’t worry, Miguel is fine and so are you. You need to take deep breaths, your chest is beating like a jackrabbit right now, come on.” Gwen guides him out of the enclosure and plops him down on a desk chair in the surveillance room. “You had no way of knowing he would react like that.”

“Still, it’s my fault I put him under that distress in the first place,” he grumbles, rubbing his knuckles together, sighing loudly, his stomach liquid in his abdomen. “I fucked up, now Miguel is upset and another company device is broken, and it’s all technically my fault. I overstepped my boundaries again—fuck, Peter’s gonna kill me.”

“That tablet is more than broken I’ll tell you that much, that thing is eviscerated at this point,” Gwen adds, grimacing when Miles face drops even further. “Sorry…” she manages a strained smile. “Peter isn’t gonna kill you though, he’s probably gonna run straight here, slam the door wide open, and say—“

“What happened?” Peter bursts into the room as if on cue, beelining it for Miles who wants nothing more than the floor to swallow him right now.

“I fucked up, man.” Miles deflates, finding no use in hiding it. “I showed Miguel a picture of a squid and he…didn't take it well.”

“Define ‘didn’t take it well’.”

Miles looks away, wincing. “He destroyed the tablet and sank it to the bottom of his tank.”

Peter blinks, drawing a deep breath after digesting the information, coming up with a thousand questions and starting with the most important one: “Are you and Miguel okay?” He asks, looking over Miles and trying to find the siren on the feed.

“I’m fine, he didn’t hurt me, he’s fine too, I think, just upset.”

“Good, second—what were you thinking? Why didn’t you run that by me before trying it out or wait for someone to be in the room with you?”

“I—I—“ he really couldn’t come up with shit. “I don’t know, I wasn't thinking. He reacted just fine to all the other pictures I showed him, so I figured this one wouldn’t hurt either. I made sure I was a good distance away but…I…I don’t know.”

Peter sighs, messaging the bridge of his nose. “Alright, well, there goes another company device, but it’s fine, stuff like this can happen but Miles I have to stress—Run. Shit. By. Me. First.” He punctuates every word with a tap of his finger on the desk, locking eyes with the young marine biologist. “Next time you won’t be so lucky and Miguel might end up hurting you or himself unintentionally. He’s probably ripping that tablet to shreds right now and God knows if he’s eating any bits or not. The camera feed isn’t giving us much to work with, he’s probably hiding just out of sight right now but stuff like this can’t keep happening.”

“I know, I’m sorry.” Miles feels pathetic even putting Peter and Miguel in this position, he wishes he could go back in time and rewrite what just happened. Hindsight is a bitch to work through with all the guilt and regret that comes with it, and now he’s stuck with the gravity of not knowing if Miguel would eat the damn thing and get sick from it.

“We’re still learning about Miguel and what sets him off,” Gwen speaks up, arms crossed, “stuff like this is bound to happen, Pete, I mean Pyro the Orca destroyed most things set in his tank when we first rehabilitated him. Cut Miles and Miguel some slack, for all we know, Miguel might still be adjusting to his new living arrangement. He’s probably frustrated being in there.”

“Yeah, I know, I’m sorry it’s just—“ Peter rubs his eyes, nodding as he paces back and forth, “I get really worried sometimes, you know? Like one day something will happen that we can’t reverse.”

Miles rubs his knuckles, eyes glazed over, deep in thought. “You’re right.”

“Well, we at least know that squids and sirens don’t get along, at least Miguel doesn’t like them judging by his reaction. Was there anything he reacted positively to at least?” Peter asks, changing the subject to lighten the mood, if only a tad.

“Dumbo Octopus,” Miles informs, the shine returning to his eyes as Peter snorts and smiles. “He really liked the picture of a Dumbo Octopus for some reason, and not in the I-want-to-eat-it kind of way, at least I don’t think so, he looked genuinely happy to see it.”

“Huh, interesting.” Peter rubs his chin. “You know what, kid, you had a good idea showing Miguel those pictures, we should try that again but this time no potential predators, alright.”

“Right…”

Miguel peaks his head out of the water with a suspicious frown while Miles smiles sheepishly at him.

“Back by unpopular demand,” he declares, taking out another tablet from behind himself, making sure it is as far away from Miguel as possible, who is glaring daggers at it. If looks could kill the tablet would’ve melted by now. “We’re going to learn something different today, okay Miguel?”

Miguel flicks his tail in and out of the water like some agitated cat caught in a corner. He’s not intrigued by any of this at all, Miles can tell, and by the looks of it, he still seems upset.

“Big guys still angry, huh?” Peter notes, watching the siren lie perfectly still in the water, eyes trained on the tablet like a hunter would a deer, clearly ready to sink his claws into it if given the chance. “Might have to soften him up a bit.” He grabs a mackerel from the bucket and throws it by Miguel, who turns away in disgust.

“What’s the matter? I thought mackerels were his favorite?” Peter huffs.

“They are, I don’t know why he’s being like this still,” Miles deflates. “I thought letting an entire day pass would calm him down.”

“That squid really ticked him off, huh? Hobbie told me that Miguel did nothing but make round after round around his tank for hours on end last night, all without resting throughout the night. Might be a territorial thing.”

That does nothing to ease Miles’ mind in the slightest as he agonizes over the issue once more, blaming himself for this hiccup in the first place, he watches Miguel dive into the water with a frown. Why’d I have to go an screw things up so royally? He rubs his neck, shutting down. If I’d thought for a moment, maybe I wouldn't have shown him that picture…but I can’t dwell on my regrets now, I gotta keep trying.

So Miles goes home that night a little upset but hopeful that tomorrow will bring a better outcome, but the next day is not much different. Miguel regards them coldly that morning for breakfast too, surveying his surroundings defensively. There’s a calculative look in his eyes, like he’s waiting for that squid to show up any moment and attack him. He goes as far as to spit out his food after a couple of bites, making Miles' heart lurche at the sight.

“Miguel, what's wrong?” Miles pleads, watching the up churn of fish chunks stain the water while the siren shakes his head to rid himself of its contents. It’s like a switch was flipped in Miguel’s brain telling him to remain as alert and defensive as possible, making it difficult to even keep food down. Miles falls to his knees at the edge of the aquarium, pleading for Miguel to come closer. He caused all of this agony, he wants to at least soothe him if he can, but he really doesn’t know how to bring Miguel back. 

“What happened to you?” He mumbles sadly, hunched over by the edge of the tank as he tries beckoning Miguel with some ice. “Did a squid hurt you?”

Miguel’s eyes wander over to the outstretched hand cautiously, locking eyes with Miles briefly before diving down with a strong stroke of his tail, splashing Miles in the process.

“I really fucked up, huh?” He sighs.

“Give Miggy some more time, he’ll come around eventually,” Gwen says, patting his back. “You got the special touch, remember? If anyone can bring Miggy back, it’s you. Plus, Miguel really likes you so he won't stay a sourpuss for long. At the very least, this gives us some insight into Miguel’s life. His hatred for squid paints a vague picture but it’s there, can you see it?”

Miles takes a moment to respond, deep in thought, visualizing what might occur in the deepest parts of the ocean. “Yeah.”

“There’s multiple things that might trigger this kind of response,” Gwen continues, painting a clearer picture of Miguel’s possible past. “Squids or giant squids are more than likely top predators alongside sirens in the depths of the ocean, territorial fights between them might be inevitable, especially over prey, like hyenas and lions. There’s also the possibility that they hunt each other too, with how vicious and powerful Miguel is, he might be at the top of the food chain down there, but who knows.”

“Ever since he saw the image he hasn't let his guard down not once, like he thinks his tank is unsafe now.” Miles stands with a downcast look, walking over to the net pole and cleaning out the fish chucks from the water. “They must be enemies.”

“It might be a coping mechanism too. The image of the squid triggered his instincts and now he’s overcompensating by making sure his surroundings are safe? He’s not even eating that much either, also signs of territorial tendencies,” Gwen adds, typing all of this information down on an Alchemax tablet. “Of course, all of these are hypotheticals, there's really no way of knowing with certainty until we observe a siren in the wild.”

Miles pauses, blinking slowly, making sure he’s facing away from Gwen before asking, “Do you think Miguel is ready for release?” He hears a scoff from behind him.

“He’s been ready for days now, I’m not sure why Alchemax hasn’t approved his release yet, maybe they want us to study him more, who knows, but I hear they're still running tests on Miguel’s blood, the big guys I mean, strictly scientists, over at Alchemax labs.”

Miles frowns. “Alchemax labs? Why are they interested in Miguel’s blood?”

Gwen stares at him for a moment with an underlying sense of suspicion and awareness, a look that tells him—not here. She flicks her eyes towards the cameras and—oh right, they're being recorded, their every word could possibly be listened to.

“Who cares, but are you free tonight?” Gwen asks instead, helping Miles clean the outside of Miguel’s enclosure.

“Yeah, we should go out to eat.” He nods, knowing it would be much smarter to talk about these kinds of things outside of company time.

“Oh definitely.”

“And you're saying he's acting this way because you showed him a picture of a squid?” Pavitr asks with raised brows and an open mouth, holding his slice of pizza like fine china. Miles nods, not too interested in his own food but mindlessly picking off bits and pieces here and there. Appetite scuffed.

“It’s like a switch flipped in his brain telling him to be defensive again, and I can’t seem to fix it. I caused him that stress,” Miles groans, frowning down at his food.

“Don’t beat yourself up,” Peni says, patting Miles’ fro, “you couldn’t have known.”

Miles deflates. “Right…that’s what everyone keeps telling me, but it doesn’t fix the issue. Problem is, I don’t know how to get Miguel out of this funk he’s in, and it’s starting to affect his progress.”

“He might still need more time,” Gwen assures between mouthfuls of greasy pizza.

“Have you tried pampering him?” Pavitr asks with a big smile, index finger in the air. “My nani always pampers me when I’m upset and it never fails to cheer me up! It’s like magic!”

“I’ve tried his favorite food and giving him ice, but he’s not interested in any of those, and I’m kind of limited in what I can give him, gotta run it through Peter first.”

“Speaking of Peter,” Gwen interjects, holding another slice of pizza with as much grace as one would a piece of paper. “Has he mentioned anything about Miguel’s blood work to you guys?”

Miles and Peni shake their heads while Pavitr looks above in recollection.

“He mentioned Miguel’s blood work being processed and studied in Alchemax headquarters, right?” Pav says, flicking some of his hair out of his face. “Why is Alchemax headquarters running tests on Miguel’s bloodwork and not our own phlebotomist team here in the sanctuary?”

“Exactly what I’m saying!” Gwen slams her fists on the table, rattling everything about, making a couple of eyes turn their way. “Somethings fishy, pun intended, and I don’t like it.”

“Why hasn't Peter mentioned anything about this to me?” Miles draws back in disbelief, confused by Peter not telling him any of this.

“Because he knows how you are, he knows you’ll ask questions and go searching for answers at Alchemax HQ if not given them,” Gwen says matter-of-factly, dabbing the tip of her pizza at him. “Which is exactly why I’m concerned. If Peter doesn’t want you snooping around for answers, it means he's worried about your job potentially being on the line, which makes me believe those snakes up in HQ are up to something.”

“Wait, hold on,” Peni cuts in with a frown and a shake of her head. “You’re basing all of this off a hunch?”

“Never failed me before.” Gwen shrugs and squares her jaw. “Plus, it wouldn't surprise me if those blood-sucking leeches at HQ have nothing good on their mind.”

This news comes as a shock to Miles, who can’t form words to even express his discomfort. Alchemax is interested in Miguel’s blood and are still running further tests, tests that they haven’t informed them of yet. He doesn’t know if it’s something to be worried about or not, the only way to know for sure is to do their own research, which usually involves under-the-table information passing since they don’t have clearance for most research outside of the sanctuary.

“Do you think Peter knows what the higher-ups are doing?” Miles asks, concerned.

“Probably not fully. I asked him about it the other day and he said he didn’t know the details, just that Miguel’s blood samples are being sent to HQ. He must know somethings fishy too but can’t do much about it either.”

“They're not even telling Peter?” Pavitr comments, eyes wide.

“Like I said,” Gwen starts, narrowing her eyes. “Fishy.”

Miles takes a trip to the beach after work the next day to digest everything going on, thoughts of Miguel swimming through his mind like clockwork. Today wasn’t much better in terms of getting the siren to snap out of his defensive mode either, and it’s disheartening the more he dwells on it.

“What can I do to bring you back?” Miles agonizes, eyes tilting up to the orange and pink sky set ablaze by a culminating sunset. It’s cold, cold enough to see his own breath, and Miles powers through it without paying much mind, walking mindlessly across the sand, allowing the sun's final rays to warm his skin. He pauses when a flash of white catches his eye, making him blink. There, nestled in the sand is a striking large sea shell fading in and out of the waves, it’s pearly white, a blank canvas standing out in the dark sand. He sets out for it like a man looking for gold, surprised by how intact and pristine it seems to be, upon closer inspection he recognizes it as a conch shell, with slight ridges and spikes on its spine, reminding him vaguely of a certain siren. Miles runs his fingers along the ridges, presses the mouth of the shell to his ear, and listens to the sound of the ocean waves within its spiral. Breathtaking.

He wonders if Miguel would enjoy this as much as him. With one final glance to the horizon, he puts the sea shell in his coat pocket and walks back to his car, heading home for the night, thoughts of Miguel still at the forefront of his mind. He thinks of his conversations with Gwen, Pavitr, and Peni as well, of Alchemax running additional tests on Miguel’s blood and what it could mean. Did they find something of concern? Of interest? Is it just for logging purposes? Or is it something more?

As far as Miles knows, Miguel’s blood work came back fine, he’s healthy with the slight exception of a bit of weight loss at first, but he’s gained much of it back and then some. Other than that, Miguel’s recovery has gone smoothly, so why are they doing more research?

Miles tosses and turns that night, it’s hard to sleep when his mind continues churning with worrying thoughts of Miguel. Minutes drag into hours, and hours draining his energy through the night, by the morning, he’s a walking zombie. It’s the type of lethargy that even coffee can’t fix, soaking deep into his brain and drying it out. As soon as he gets to the sanctuary, he heads for Miguel’s enclosure without a second thought, remembering the conch he picked up from the ocean yesterday evening. Instead of heading directly to the upper level like he usually does, Miles searches for Miguel from the base level this time, finding the siren swimming along the aquarium bed, looking as breathtaking and imposing as ever.

He admires the siren from afar, watching him guard his territory meticulously. Miguel hasn't spotted him yet, giving him a couple of moments to just watch in awe. Honestly, Miles will never get used to how big and defined Miguel is, the sheer size of him is a feat of its own even by human standards. He continues to stare like a man in a museum, his own Braschi Antinous.

Finally, he walks over and lets Miguel spot him, who swims closer as Miles nears the glass. Miles, feeling bold, presses his palm to it and watches as Miguel contemplates the action for a second before placing his palm too. Relief floods Miles’ chest like warm honey, and it’s amazing how much vitality that single action gives him. It’s reassuring to know he hasn't completely lost Miguel to his instincts, and it makes him lightweight and buoyant. Miguel, frowning, blows some bubbles before swimming to the surface with a powerful flick of his tail, and Miles takes that as a message to go up himself.

“You’re waiting for me,” Miles points out when he enters Miguel’s enclosure, noticing the siren poking his head out where they usually interact, “that's a first—wait!” Miles almost trips over himself when Miguel dives back into the depths of his tanks without another glance, giving mixed signals. Miles all but jogs toward where Miguel once was, mourns the loss until the siren pops back up with a whole fish locked between his teeth. Miles blinks. This is new.

He watches Miguel come closer, fish in mouth as he glances up at Miles expectantly, like he's waiting for some kind of reaction of some sort. Miles leans down, blinking as he takes the fish from Miguel’s mouth.

“For me? You kept this for me?”

Miguel looks at him as if his eyes alone could convey the words he could not speak, and in a way he sort of did. Miles isn’t sure what to do with this information, what it could mean but he knows it’s an important moment for the both of them. He blinks when he remembers the conch he brought for the siren and reaches in his pouch, taking out the seashell and presenting it to Miguel as a gift. The siren frowns and tilts his head in that cute way Miles associates curiosity and intrigue with. Miguel smells the shell and gives it a final assertion before taking it to examine it more thoroughly.

“That’s for you,” Miles says, pointing at him. “If you put it to your ear you can hear the ocean.” He makes the motion of putting it up to his ear, and Miguel crinkles his brow with confusion and interest, not sure what to do. Miles reaches out slowly and cups the back of Miguel’s hand, or at least he tries to, the siren's hands are like bear paws in comparison, but he guides the conch up to his ear. The siren flinches back a bit, not sure what to make of any of this but Miles is patient and gentle, soothing him with encouragements until Miguel finally allows the seashell to rest against his ear.

“It’s the ocean,” Miles explains at Miguel’s confused look, smiling warmly. “O c e a n.”

“Breakfast time!” A voice greets from the other end of the room—Peter, he’s walking towards them with Miguel’s breakfast bucket in hand. “How’s Migs doing this morning?” He asks, joining them quite unceremoniously as Miguel continues inspecting the seashell and pressing it to his ear. Miles' shoulders drop.

“Better, I think, he seems more relaxed now,” Miles answers, taking the bucket from Peter and standing.

“What’s that?” Peter asks, watching Miguel be completely enraptured by the sea shell, going as far as ignoring them for it. “A new shell?”

“Yeah, hope you don’t mind, I brought it from the beach and thought he might like it.”

“It looks cool, surprised it’s so intact.”

“Right?” Miles says, having half a mind to ask Peter about Miguel’s blood work right here and now, only deciding against it because of the surveillance cameras. “He seems to like it a lot.”

Peter nods, this sort of edginess to him that Miles zeros in on immediately. There’s something on the man's mind, he can tell by the way he squares his shoulders, something weighing heavily on them. “Speaking of the ocean,” he begins and Miles' heart jumps inexplicably, like the distant sound of bells as a warning of something horrid.

“Miguel’s release might be approved by the higher-ups soon.”

Chapter Text

“Miguel’s not gonna like this.”

It’s exam day in the sanctuary, and by extension, exam day for Miguel too. Even though the siren is practically restored to full health, they still have to check on him and make sure everything is in working order. The thing is, Miguel is notoriously aggressive and moody when it comes to checkups, and who could blame him? He doesn’t understand what's going on, all that he sees are a bunch of humans trying to capture him, which makes him fight like a Marley on hook.

Miles sighs, grabbing a bucket of mackerel and giving Peter a nervous grin. “Aye, maybe today will be different? Who knows, Miguel might behave for once in his life.”

“So optimistic, that's why I love you, kid. You might be right though, his check-up is a lot lighter today than usual, superficial really, apart from the blood draw.” Peter nods, typing away at his tablet. “You know, depending on the outcome of today's checkup, Miguel might be ready for release soon.”

Miles stops mid-step, heart lurching, unable to process anything other than the tightening in his chest. He knew that their mission was to set him back in the ocean the moment they rescued Miguel…he knows this and yet…

“I know,” Miles replies, regaining his composure while they make their way down the hallway to Miguel’s enclosure, his face set into stern lines. It’s natural that Miguel’s release day would come, after all, the siren is meant to be in the ocean with his own kind, not amongst them on land. It’s a reasonable conclusion as a marine biologist to want a siren's release back into the ocean, it means they can study him properly in the wild without the confines of a tank. Things like social behaviors, diets, and habits can only be truly recorded organically in his own habitat. There’s still so much to learn about Miguel that they can't possibly process in captivity, for instance, do sirens form pods like mermaids? Or are they solitary like sharks? Is his stinger for hunting or defense? Maybe both? What are their mating cycles and or rituals? Do they travel long distances depending on the seasons like dolphins or prefer to stay in the same general location? Are there different kinds of sirens?

There’s still so much about Miguel that's a complete mystery and Miles longs to learn everything about him so badly…and yet…

“Do you think he’s ready?” Miles asks, not turning to face Peter, who looks at him with something close to pity, noticing the tension in Miles’ shoulders as they draw nearer. He sighs and nods.

“Yeah, I do.” Saying goodbye to Miguel will not be easy, but ultimately, the right thing to do.

Miles opens the door to the siren's enclosure a lot slower than normal, heading for the feeding dock with a bucket of mackerel in hand. “Miguel!” he shouts, squaring his shoulders, trying his best to release the tension and pain in his muscles. “Breakfast!” He steps onto the shallow dock and shivers, mood crestfallen.

He really didn’t want to say goodbye….

Miguel appears with his eyes above water, his wavy brown hair slicked back and shiny as he swims toward the edge lazily, looking up at Miles.

“There you are, I got your favorite.” Miles gives him a half smile, holding up a fish by the tail, watching as Miguel’s eyes sharpen with interest, coming closer and placing his hands on the ledge like it’s his first day in school. That’s cute, Miles thinks fondly. I’m going to miss you.

“That reminds me,” Miles begins as Miguel finishes his breakfast, momentarily forgetting his worries of the day. “Look what I taught him.”

“You taught Miguel something and he actually listened?” Peter grins lazily, brow raised. “Waddya teach him?”

“How to smile!”

Peter turns to him fully, his grin turning incredulous. “Now I gotta see this.”

“Just watch. Miguel, S M I L E,” Miles verbalizes slowly, making the motions with his index fingers and smiling wide himself. Miguel tilts his head, looking as miffed and confused as a newborn before wrinkling his nose and stretching his mouth wide, looking more like a grimace than a smile, but if you squint, it’s there amongst the sharp teeth and all.

Peter holds back a laugh before fumbling for his cell phone, needing to capture this moment for all of eternity. “That ones going to the group chat—I can’t!”

“He looks good, huh?” Miles grins.

“Charming.”

“Took me hours and a lot of mackerel to get him to do it. He hates me for it I think, but he still does it for some reason.”

“It’s amazing, kid,” Peter rubs the tears from his eyes. “Really brings out those pearly whites of his.”

“Right? Kinda cool, huh?”

“You know, apart from the squid incident, Miguel’s temper has gotten a lot better I think. That’s in large part thanks to you, Miles,” Peter admits, watching Miguel float on his back languidly, hands behind his head, an action so human-like it’s jarring.

“You really think so?” Miles beams, the admission instantly boosting his mood.

“Yeah, it’s like he understands we're trying to help him now.”

Miles’ smile dulls, turning towards Miguel with a mixture of sadness and happiness despite the ache in his chest. I hope he does, he thinks, I hope he remembers me when he returns home.

“I think it’s time for the sedation process.” Peter stands, collecting the buckets. “Maybe we can sedate him ourselves without having to call Ramirez. Miguel doesn’t really like him.”

“Probably because he’s associated him with the projectors.”

“Probably. Smart cookie.”

“I got some news for you, Miguel,” Miles kneels before the edge, trying to sound as lighthearted as possible as Miguel inches closer. “It’s check-up day,” he admits, wanting to be as transparent with the siren as he can, even if he doesn’t fully understand what it might mean.

But Miguel’s reaction is instantaneous, he wrenches back like he tasted rotten fish, clearly aware of the implications. The siren openly glares at the brunet, recognizing “checkup day” from all the previous times they’ve sedated him. ‘No’ he shakes his head, displeased.

Wow, he understands the words now, Miles blinks, taken aback. That’s incredible. “I know you don’t like the sound of that but we have to check on you, it’s for your own good.”

‘No’ Miguel shakes his head again, moving away from them with a frown like a petulant child.

“He’s like Mayday,” Peter speaks up, amused. “Always saying no…also, did he…just understand what you said?”

Miles turns towards him with a nervous look. “I guess he learned the meaning, I knew he was smart but—“

“His intelligence and adaptability are incredible!” Peter praises, amazed. “But troublesome, he’s not going to let us near him now.”

Miles’ entire demeanor drops significantly as Miguel openly glares at them, clearly pissed off. “What do we do now?”

“Good questions.” Peter rubs his stubble. “If we make any sudden movements I’m sure he’ll bolt. If he even catches a glimpse of the projector we can kiss sedation goodbye.”

Miles chews his lips, wracking his brain for any ideas. “What if…” this might sound crazy, “What if we don’t sedate him this time? I can get Miguel’s blood work and check on his arm without it, you said his checkup is lighter than all his previous ones, right? He’ll let me close.”

“Miles… that's—” There's clear apprehension in Peter’s voice. “That’s hardly ethical.”

“You said it yourself, his temper has improved. You’ve seen how close I’ve gotten to him. I know I can do this.”

“It’s not a question of if you can do this. I know you’re more than capable. It’s a question of how Miguel will react that I’m worried about. We don’t know his reaction to a needle piercing his skin without sedation, he goes insane when a dart punctures him.”

“That’s because he's scared and territorial, it hurts him and he doesn’t like Ramirez. It’s different if I do it, I know it.”

“I can’t allow this.”

“Look, man, the sooner we get this checkup done the sooner Miguel gets released back into the ocean again. This is what you—what we want. It’s what we’ve been working so hard for, right? His release.”

Peter doesn’t seem convinced, a frown marrying his features only proving so. He turns towards Miguel with a frown, debating the entire thing with a heavy sigh.

“He might snap,” Peter warns.

“Maybe, but I don't think he will,” Miles assures.

“And you know this…how?”

“We’re connected.” He clenches his fist, an unyielding aura about him. “I just know it.”

Peter sighs, head dropping with his hands on his hips. They’re silent for a good minute, letting the weight of the conversation settle around them. Miles almost breaks the silence first, determined to convince him but Peter speaks up first. “An entire team will be on standby ready with darts if necessary. I will also be in the room to supervise.”

“Of course.” Miles nods, proud of himself for convincing Peter, though he doesn’t show it lest it’s taken from him.

“And we do this only after we’ve allowed Miguel some time to calm down a bit. We go get the other exams out of the way and if Miguel is receptive enough when we come back, then you can perform his exam under heavy supervision.”

“Right.”

“Miles, you’re absolutely certain about this?”

He squares his shoulders, determination igniting like flames in his chocolate eyes, leaving no room for doubt. “Unequivocally.”

Most wildlife in the sanctuary are conditioned to monthly checkups and blood draws, making the examinations a quick and easy process for everyone involved. It’s just tedious work. There’s numerous wildlife in the sanctuary, and gathering all the data and blood work required to input and sort away, takes time and precision. It’s all a crucial part of their work, ensuring that everyone is happy and healthy. It makes the task worth it in the end, putting their mind at ease. 

Miles breathes in, drawing blood from the last mermaid of the day, who patiently waits, tail up, to be given the signal to move. They’re all so docile and cooperative, partly due to being rewarded with a little snack afterward, but they're all equally as happy to be helpful. Miles smiles as he gives Sol a pat on the head and a fish, watching as the rest of the pod comes to her for moral support, chirping and whistling encouragingly. They’re all so loving and affectionate, hugging and nestling against each other for support, forming strong family bonds.

Miles wonders if Miguel has his own family to return to. Do sirens form pods? Do they care for each other as strongly as mermaids? Does he miss them? Do they mate for life like mermaids do? Or are they seasonal? Does Miguel have a mate?

Miles blinks, knowing so little about Miguel’s oceanic life before ending up in the sanctuary, they don't even know his true diet either, they can only guess for now. It’s saddening when he thinks about it, there's a whole part of Miguel’s life he’s not privy to because of the depths they're bound to.

So much to learn. So little time.

“Ready, Miles?” Peter pats his shoulder, dragging him out of his reverie.

“Ready.” He nods, gathering the supplies necessary for Miguel’s check-up. His limbs are heavy, knowing this will more than likely be the last exam he has to put the siren through. He can at least make it a peaceful one, or as peaceful as it can be.

“You sure about this, Miles?” Gwen asks from beside him as they make it to the surveillance room and Miles gathers everything he needs. “I know you and Migs have a strong connection, but…I mean you’ve seen how aggressive he gets during check-up time.”

“Yeah, he gets a lil feisty,” feisty is an understatement, “but I got faith in him and myself. He’s come a long way.”

“True, I’m still worried though,” she gives him two thumbs up and a toothy grin, “hoping for the best!”

Miles returns the smile before entering Miguel’s enclosure, Peter following close behind him, hovering.

“If you sense any hostility from Miguel, call it off,” Peter reminds him. “No higher risks.”

“I will,” Miles says before setting the equipment down, grabbing what he needs and placing it in his waterproof pouch around his waist.

“Don’t risk yourself unnecessarily, Miles, I swear to God if you—“

“Pete,” Miles deadpans, “I got this.”

“Right,” Peter's lips form a thin line, swallowing. “We’ll be watching,” he finishes before walking to the farthest corner of the enclosure, leaving Miles in the vast tranquility of Miguel’s aquarium. He does his breathing exercises and collects his thoughts and worries, rounding them up and composing himself. He can’t let them run rampant lest he makes a mistake that costs him his life. Miles makes his way over to the shallows, stepping in carefully, so as to not make a ripple or a sound. He doesn’t venture to the deep end just yet, choosing to stay where the water meets his ankles, fish bucket in hand.

You can do this, he thinks, gathering his resolve. Miguel. I believe in you.

“Miguel!” He calls out, taking a fish and waving it in the water, spreading its scent as much as he can. From what they’ve gathered, Miguel can detect the scent of fish from a long distance away, he just hopes this is enough to entice him to come up. “Miguel, dinner!” He shouts again and again, over and over, knowing it might take a while before he comes up if this morning has anything to say about it, and Miguel does take his sweet time breaking the surface, red eyes peering over the water after ten minutes of his name being called. He looks cautious.

“Finally, you’re here.” Miles smiles, heart fluttering. “Come here,” he beckons, offering the mackerel in his hand. “I got dinner for you.” But it does nothing to fool Miguel, who keeps his distance and a blank face. “Come on, man, don’t be like that,” Miles snorts, finding Miguel’s clear hesitation a little cute. He’s so smart.

“I knew I couldn’t trick you, you're too smart for that, huh, Miguel?” He takes a couple of steps forward before kneeling in the water to make himself smaller, Miguel observing the entire thing with interest. “But Imma need you to trust me, okay?”

Miguel stares a little more before fully raising his head above water, slowly creeping closer. It worked! Though he’s still not close enough for Miles to even touch with the tips of his fingers.

“A little more,” Miles beckons, and Miguel frowns but comes closer until his chest meets the shallow dock. They’re at a standstill now. The classic standstill. Eyes and limbs locked with intensity and trepidation. This is all new for Miguel, his hesitance is understandable, and Miles is just happy to be able to get this close without the siren lashing out.

Miles tilts his head, smiling warmly at him. “You want this mackerel? You’re gonna have to reach for it.” He dangles the fish in front of Miguel like a toy. Tempting. Miguel swipes for the fish with his hand but misses when Miles reels it back just in time, earning a disapproving chuff from Miguel.

“Come here,” Miles says once more, and to his utter surprise and pleasure, Miguel pushes himself onto the shallow platform with his arms, muscles bulging under all of his weight. Like this, his dorsal fin and upper half of his tail sit just above the water as he slithers closer to Miles, who takes tentative steps back. Miguel’s frown only darkens, almost into a pout.

“Don’t give me that look,” Miles almost snorts, loving that look as he comes to a stop, reaching a middle ground between the water reaching his shins and Miguel’s belly, hoping he feels secure enough to flee if he wants to. “I got a bucket full of mackerel just for you, but you have to be nice.” To prove his point, Miles shows him the bucket full of fish, which he knows the siren can smell, and sets it beside him as he gets to his knees once more. A prize.

Miguel contemplates his next move, looks from Miles to the bucket, then at their surroundings before using his upper body strength to drag himself closer until he’s in front of Miles, fully beached, meaning, he could no longer move as easily as he wished. It’s an extremely vulnerable position for the siren and the implications don't go unnoticed by Miles, who knows this is a testament to how much trust he has in him. He’s extremely grateful for it.

Without further preamble, Miles takes the leap of faith and slowly reaches out to touch Miguel’s hair, half expecting the siren to growl and swipe at him. Neither happen though as his fingertips brush against wet curls. Miles freezes. Heart caught in his throat as he carefully tucks a strand of hair behind the siren’s ear. Miguel sits there patiently, supporting his upper half with his forearms, observing Miles intently before nuzzling against his palm, making the biologist nearly topple over with excitement.

He caresses the siren’s cheek with a thumb and watches as Miguel closes his eyes, as if enjoying the touch. “Amazing,” Miles pants, licking his lips, awed by how big Miguel still was despite lying on his belly and Miles being crouched. It’s wholly impressive.

“Let’s see that arm,” he says before he loses himself to the moment, giving the siren the fish he so gracefully earned. He moves so that he’s beside Miguel’s previously fractured arm, making sure to remain in his line of sight in case it makes him nervous. Miguel tries nudging him away lightly the first few times he tries touching his bicep, defensive.

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” Miles soothes when Miguel tries moving away, confused. “M’not gonna hurt you.” He feels the bone, a little difficult with all of that muscle in the way but he manages it. Carefully, he tries lifting the arm, only for Miguel to pull it away in distaste. Miles tries again and again with feather-like touches until Miguel is conditioned to the touch and movement. He’s finally able to lift the limb high enough to rotate it in circles, leaving Miguel to support himself on one forearm. The water underneath him did a good job at keeping him upright though, making the process a lot easier as Miles assesses Miguel’s arm, making sure the bone moves properly and Miguel didn’t show any signs of pain or discomfort.

“Feels good,” Miles breathes, giving Miguel another fish for his effort, truly proud of how far the siren has come. He‘s unable to dwell on the pride and warmth in his chest though, moving on to the next assessment while he has Miguel pliant and cooperative. He wants to get a good look at his injuries, or well, the scarring left behind, and take a gander at his tail and flukes. Miles moves lower, marvels at how beautiful Miguel’s tail is for a second before the siren turns with him, denying full access to his bottom half, knocking the bucket of mackerel over in the process. Miles snorts and shakes his head, figuring as much. It’s understandable why Miguel wouldn’t want him messing around near his tail, the most important area for him, like a cat and his belly.

Beggars can’t be choosers, I guess, Miles shrugs, noticing the multitude of jagged and coarse scars littering Miguel’s back and tail as he starts devouring the fish around him, momentarily distracted. Overall, everything looked good, passing his physical with flying colors.

Now onto the hard part. The blood draw.

Miles is no stranger to needles and blood draws, in fact, he’s performed hundreds of blood draws in his years at the sanctuary, and it’s standard procedure to draw blood from the flukes of most aquatic mammals. Seeing as how this is Miguel though, he doesn’t think accessing his flukes will be a viable option. Not to mention how close Miles would have to get to his barbed stinger, leaving him with one final option.

Intravenous extraction from the inner elbow.

From previous exams performed on Miguel under sedation, they’ve noted that, similar to humans, Miguel has a prominent vein near his inner elbow, albeit a little higher, and it might be exactly the spot Miles needs to do the draw quickly and effectively. With that in mind, he stealthily maneuvers himself closer to the siren's right arm while he’s busy stuffing his face, luckily, he brought plenty of food for distraction but he needs to act quickly.

Reaching into his waterproof pouch, Miles secures some elastic gloves and readies the needle, leaving the pouch open so he can quickly draw gauze if needed once he’s done. 

Attentively, he reaches for Miguel’s inner elbow, halts when a distinctive growl reaches his ears. Miguel is side-eyeing him warningly, mackerel locked between his powerful mandible and razor-sharp incisors. Miles caresses his chocolate skin soothingly, whispering encouraging words he hopes might calm Miguel, who carefully returns to devouring his meal.

It’s now or never!

He wastes no time and pricks Miguel’s tough inner skin with a heavy-grade needle, holding on even when the siren makes a wounded noise and flinches back some, attempting to draw away with a growl. Miles sucks in a hiss of pain when Miguel’s other hand lands heavily on his upper back, claws digging into soft flesh through his wetsuit, though not breaking skin.

“Miles?” Peter calls out in warning from the sidelines.

“I’m okay,” he assures, taking the needle out, capping it, and placing the sample in his pouch just as Miguel throws him off balance by yanking him down. Miles falls onto his back with a gasp, water entering his mouth as he’s splayed out before Miguel who hovers above him, fangs drawn. Saliva trickles down Miguel’s jaws and onto Miles’ face as he winces at the heavyweight on top of him, heart beating in his ears but strangely calm. He isn't scared. There’s no killer intent in Miguel’s eyes, just annoyance, and throwing him on his back, belly-up, is Miguel’s way of saying—hey, quit that. At least Miles hopes.

“Oh, shit—just wait kid, I’ll get the—“

“No, wait—it’s okay!” Miles repeats, the air punched out of him. “I got this, don’t move or he’ll get even more agitated.”

Peter makes an uncertain noise in the back of his throat but stills himself. “Jesus Christ, kid, he's practically on top of you.”

I know, Miles blinks up at Miguel who lowers himself and sniffs his face and hair, mapping him out the best way he can. Miles just lays there and lets him, knowing there's not much he can do other than stay as calm as he can. He almost chuckles when a wet nose brushes up against his neck incessantly, as if searching for something. He must be looking for my gills, Miles thinks, fascinated by how close he is to Miguel. Then, before he can react, a slimy tongue runs from his lower jaw to his temple. Miles shrinks in on himself, quivers at the sensation, surprised by the touch as Miguel continues to run his slightly coarse tongue across his forehead and hair.

“I—I think he’s grooming me!” Miles says excitedly, chest pain momentarily forgotten in lieu of this new outcome.

“Of course you’d be excited about that.” Peter glowers, running a tired hand down his face. Miles is a daredevil in his own right and it's going to kill him one of these days. “You’re going to give me a heart attack one day, kid.”

Miles can't help but chuckle when Miguel nuzzles his nose against his ear and neck again, strangely enjoying the sensation of their skin meeting softly. There’s molten lava in his belly now, and a wounded heart that aches to stay like this forever. 

He doesn’t want to let go.

“I still can’t believe you managed to poke a needle into Miguel’s arm and get away with it scot-free!” Gwen cheers, tilting her head back and downing the rest of her beer. “You’re wild, Miles!”

“I wouldn't say scot-free but what can I say? I got the magic touch.” Miles smirks, touching his shoulder blade where Miguel’s claws had dug in. After the siren’s check-up went smoothly, he was forced by Peter to get light medical attention for the scratches on his back. It was nothing to Miles really, but Peter insisted and wouldn't let up until he got it looked at. Hard ass. Nothing a bit of rubbing alcohol and bandages couldn’t fix.

Miles smiles fondly despite himself, nursing his beer between warm hands, resting his elbows against his balcony railing. “Nah, but for real, Miguel is the one we should be proud of, he’s come a long way.”

With stomachs stuffed full of steamy teriyaki chicken with broccoli and white rice, Miles and Gwen cap off the night with cold beers and relaxing music. It’s a bit of a habit of theirs to hang out like this after work sometimes, and more often than not, Pavitr, Peni, Hobi, and Peter join them, although their team lead has been busy with Mayday these days. Tonight, however, it’s just them at his apartment, and that's fine by Miles too, especially with how heavy his heart seems to be right now, the beer only making it worse.

He doesn’t dare speak on his conflicting thoughts though, not ready to face his own judgment, much less the judgment of his team. Letting go of Miguel is a natural conclusion to their journey, and he has no right to want to keep him all to himself, as enticing as that thought might be. So Miles broods silently, mentally preparing himself for the day he has to rip off that dreaded band-aid and let go. It’s one of the hardest things he’s done, he thinks, and the nauseating sensation in his stomach doesn’t help as he watches the night sky and city life from his balcony, the ocean sitting comfortably between buildings and a full moon.

Sometimes, depending on the mood and the atmosphere, especially around twilight, it feels like you could soar into the sky from up here. Tonight, he feels like bricks are hanging from his limbs.

“It’s gonna be odd not having Migs around to give me mini heart attacks every time he stalks me through the water,” Gwen starts, cracking open another cold one and unknowingly cracking open a touchy subject for Miles. “He’d do this silly thing where he’d stare at me and then bare his teeth randomly, but like not in a growl, more of a grimace?” She tilts her head, chuckling. “Really weird and cute to be honest.”

“I think he was trying to smile. I taught him that,” Miles says.

Gwen sips her beer with a snort. “Why are you teaching an apex predator to smile, Miles? Not like he’s gonna charm his way through the ocean or some shit.”

“You don’t know that.” He shrugs. “Miguel might have mad game and we just don't know it. I helped him if anything.”

Gwen nudges him, amused. “You’re silly.”

Miles’s chest is heavy, dropping his head between taunt shoulder blades. Yeah…

“I am gonna miss him though,” he admits, chest tightening just so. It’s the first time he’s said it aloud. “It’s been six months, but it feels like years since we first rescued him.”

“Right? And I didn't even get to bond with him as much as you did, so I can only imagine how you must feel. This is the only part I don’t like about rescues—I mean, I love what we do, don’t get me wrong,” Gwen explains, tucking a wayward strand of blonde behind her ear. “I’m filled with so much pride and joy when we get to rehabilitate and release a sea creature back into the wild but getting attached sucks! It hurts seeing them leave, you know?”

Miles' soft gaze lands ahead, past the buildings and through the clouds, onto the mesmerizing moon set cascading from the horizon. It reminds him of Miguel’s eyes. Captivating.

“Yeah, I know.”

Buzz! Buzz!

They’re interrupted by Miles' cell phone ringing, and he reaches for it in his pocket, blinking when he notices Peter’s contact lighting up the screen. He’s calling him. Peter is calling him. A rock drops to his stomach.

“Uh, you gonna answer that?” Gwen asks.

“What’s up?” He answers after breaking through his trance, trying to sound as casual as possible despite tension building up in his shoulders and jaw.

“Miles, my sweet daredevil protégée, how goes it?” Peter sign-songs.

Miles rolls his eyes. “Spit it out already,” he prompts goodnaturedly, “I know you called me cuz you wanna tell me something important.”

Peter cracks a laugh and says, “Whatever happened to ‘hello, how are you? You’re my favorite boss ever’?”

“I don’t think anyone's ever said that about their boss. Ever.”

“Harsh. You wound me, but you’re right, I did want to tell you something important. Good news actually, Miguel’s release has been approved by the big guys! We’re set to release him in three days, just wanted to give you a heads up so we can start brainstorming ideas on the location and how we're gonna fit a tracking device on the big guy. Cool, right?”

Miles sucks in a breath.

Three days.

Three days until he never sees Miguel again.

“Miles?” Peter's voice rings through the other end.

“Yeah, cool, I’ll think of something. Gwen’s here with me too, so I’ll relay the message and—,” he says on autopilot, locking eyes with the blonde who looks concerned. “And we can brainstorm and—and stuff.”

“Didn’t know there was a tea party at your place tonight, thanks for the invite by the way,” Peter says flatly.

Playful banter is easy. This is something Miles can do on autopilot whilst ignoring the ugly ache in his chest. “First, you’re a grown-ass man with a newborn daughter, didn’t think you’d wanna come to a tea party. Second, it’s not a tea party.”

“Mayday loves tea parties, Miles. I expect a royal invitation next time. Isn't that right, pumpkin,” Peter coos and Miles hears Mayday cheering in the background. “Wait—no don’t break tha—“

There’s a loud crash followed by a set of giggles and groans. “Miles, gotta go, Mayday just—oh sweet baby Jesus, your mothers going to skewer me—I’ll see you tomorrow.”

The call ends.

“Peter?” Gwen asks.

“Peter,” Miles affirms.

“What did he say?”

Three days.

“Miguel’s release is set for three days from now.”

“That’s great!” Gwen smiles half-heartedly, noticing the way Miles’ eyes stay unfocused and locked on the dark abyss ahead. She bumps shoulders with him. “It’s for the best.”

It’s meant as a bandaid. It felt more like a harpoon.

Miles lies awake in bed that night, an unhealthy habit he’s developed as of late. Of course, Miguel is on his mind—when is he not?—and how unaware he will be these upcoming days. Will he realize what's going on? Will he be happy? Or will he think he’s abandoning him again?

Miles really hopes it isn't the latter.

His alarm goes off in the morning like any other day, but today, there's added weight to his limbs. Weird. It’s the first time he wakes up and wishes not to go to work…the realization slaps him in the face.

What am I thinking? Miles frowns, pushing back the covers and ambling towards the bathroom. I gotta stop thinking like this.

At the sanctuary, he greets everyone the same, waves at Peni, nods at Noir, daps with Hobie, bumps shoulders with Gwen, messes with Peter, but the air is thicker now, saltier, dryer. That added weight on his shoulders persists like a curse, and even Beña notices his sullen state as she nuzzles against his side, trying to comfort him. She doesn’t know what’s going on but can sense something is wrong.

Miles smiles sadly down at her.

Miguel acts as usual. Of course he does. He’s unaware, but he can sense something is off. Of course he does, ever the cunning siren. It makes Miles' heart ache even more when Miguel grabs one of his ankles, gently, without applying too much pressure, wanting all of Miles’ attention squarely on him.

Miles tries to smile, but it falls flat.

The next day the blankets are heavier. He’s spoken to Peter and his team about Miguel’s release and the location they settled for, a spot they believe he was first swept from. The details are set in stone.

“Woah, Miles, you good, buddy? You look like a truck hit you,” Peter jokes that morning, patting his chest, concerned.

“Huh?” Miles attempts to blink the grogginess away and fails. “Uh, yeah, yeah.”

He goes about his day like normal, though he doesn’t visit Miguel because he can't stand the way his chest constricts at the sight, busies himself with the mermaids and belugas. He asks Peni to take over Miguel’s feeding for that morning and she smiles sadly at him. He doesn’t like the way it makes him feel vulnerable, like he’s pried open and all of his worries are exposed to the world.

That afternoon Peni tells him Miguel did not eat and of course he didn’t. Miles curses himself. Why why why did I think not visiting him was a good idea? He hates himself. Hates his stupid thoughts. He’s stronger than this. Smarter. More rational. All these stupid feelings? He didn’t need them.

The next morning, the final day before Miguel’s release, Miles wakes before his alarm clock goes off, bright and early like the day was made for him. He glares at his reflection in his bathroom mirror and points a finger at himself. He refuses to allow his stupid attachment take over him and his actions, or get in the way of the bigger picture—Miguel‘s release.

His well-being is his mission.

It isn't the end. It’s a new beginning.

“Hey, kid, how we feeling today?” Peter greets Miles with a cup of coffee and a smile hidden behind a hot morning brew.

“Good. Refreshed.” Miles rolls his shoulders as they begin their walk toward the changing room.

“Yeah?” Peter raises a brow, Miles’ downcast disposition for the past two days hanging unspoken in the air.

“Yeah, man, I’m all good.”

“Alright, then let's get to work.”

They go into Miguel’s enclosure and Miles steps onto the dock, roving his eyes across tranquil waters for a pair of red irises.

“Miguel! Breakfast!” He calls out slapping a mackerel in the water as usual. He’s ready. Ready to face the reality of letting go. “Miguel!” He calls out once more after a couple of minutes.

“Looks like sleeping beauty doesn’t want to come up,” Peter says.

Miles' heart sinks a tad. No, no, no. This is the final day, he couldn’t waste his last day with Miguel like this.

“Miggy!” Miles tries again, and again, and again. Desperately, until his voice cracks and he’s shivering now, toes numbing due to the water's frigid temperatures. But there's still no sign of the siren anywhere.

“Peni told me he didn’t eat yesterday,” Miles recalls, worried. “I didn’t visit him yesterday. This is all my fault.”

“Hey, hey, hey, this isn’t your fault.” Peter walks his way. “You know how moody Miguel can get sometimes, that big fella just doesn’t want to come up.”

“But he always comes up. I made him mad yesterday because I didn't show up. Now he doesn't want to see me. I got into my feelings and—fuck.” Miles marches out of the water and sets the bucket of fish down, pacing, almost knocking it over. “It’s the last day I get to spend with him before his release and I fucked it up!”

“You didn’t fuck it up, Miles,” Peter disputes.

“Yes, I did!”

“Miles,” Peter says like he’s talking to a wounded animal and Miles frowns.

“Don’t talk to me like that!” Miles steps back, palms up before Peter can touch him. “I don’t want your pity.”

“It’s not pity, kid.” Peter doesn’t attempt to reach out again, choosing to stay where he is. “Listen, this is hard on all of us, especially you. Migs is like part of the family now, and nobody wants to see him go.”

Miles closes his eyes in a silent protest and remains silent.

“But we also have to understand that keeping him in there,” he points at the tank, “is not doing him any good. He’s meant to be out there, in the ocean, and I know you get that too. You’re probably thinking ‘whys this tall, dashing, handsome idiot telling me something so obvious’, well, sometimes, when we get really attached, we lose sight of that goal.”

Peter reaches out and brings Miles in for a warm embrace.

“I know you’re sad to see him go, kid, it’s okay to be sad. Just don’t lose sight of that goal.”

Miles bites back a curse. The gravity and frustration of the situation setting in. He doesn’t want to let go. He doesn’t want to stop seeing Miguel or stop dealing with his little temper tantrums.

“I won’t lose sight of it,” Miles affirms once they part, whipping his nose. “I just…I came today expecting to spend all day with him and this happens.”

“Well, the day is still young, we just have to keep trying.”

And so Miles keeps trying, all evening in fact, neglecting his other task in favor of this, even bringing out an MMC at one point to help coax Miguel out. Nothing worked. It’s practically nighttime by the time Gwen finds him, most of the staff is gone or clocking out for the day. Miles remains.

“Still not budging?” Gwen asks as she enters Miguel’s enclosure, sitting beside Miles who is criss crossed by the edge of the tank.

“It’s like he hates me or something,” he mutters, frowning. “Now I’m wondering if we’ll even be able to get him out of the tank tomorrow.”

“He’s stubborn,” Gwen agrees, hands on her hips. “I bet he’s hungry too, but refuses to come up. I wonder what set him off?”

Miles has a few guesses.

“Speaking of hunger, wanna grab a bite at Bab’s Burgers tonight? Peni, Hobie, Pav, and I are going there in a few. Wanna join?”

Miles’ lips form into a thin line, scratching the back of his neck as he gazes at the waters below. He doesn’t want to.

“You can’t be here all day and night, Miles, you gotta take care of yourself too,” she says.

“I know, I know, it’s just—“ What? He wants to skip dinner with his team because he wants to spend time with Miguel one last time before they part ways? “Miguel hasn't eaten and I want to make sure he’s well-fed before release tomorrow.”

Gwen gives him a sheepish look. “We can always try getting him to eat tomorrow morning if we get here earlier than the rest, I’ll come with you.”

She’s trying her hardest to get him to go, and Miles doesn’t want to be rude and reject her outright. It wasn’t even a bad idea but, it wouldn't be the same, he needed time to say goodby—

“Sure, alright.” Miles stands, joints aching. “Yeah, we can do that. Let’s go,” he says, stealing his heart and packing it up for later. It’s for the best. With one final glance at the water, Miles follows Gwen out of Miguel’s enclosure and locks the door behind them.

They make their way to the front of the sanctuary at a leisurely pace, Miles half paying attention to what Gwen is saying, heavily engrossed in his own thoughts. So much so that he fails to measure the distance between him and a body walking towards the entrance until he bumps shoulders with them.

“My bad,” Miles amends, looking up at the stranger he collided with, his eyes instantly going wide at the sight. His blood freezes—Tyler Stone, head chief executive of Alchemax Corporation, lead scientist, and president of the company responsible for funding their sanctuary and research.

Miles almost chokes, momentarily lapsing into panic mode while Stone’s derisive eyes pierce into him, not making things easier.

“Uh, sorry, Mr. Stone,” he tries again.

“Miles Morales, correct?” The man says in a flat tone, and it’s a little alarming how he knows him by name.

“Yes, I am.”

“I’ve heard of you, you’re the one in charge of the siren.”

Miles glances at Gwen. “I mean, we all are, Peter, Gwen—“

“I understand the sirens being uncooperative?” Stone cuts in briskly, readjusting his suit. “Aggressive?”

“He can be defensive at times,” Miles corrects subtly, not liking the way the man is talking about Miguel like he’s some moronic animal. “I think it’s quite normal behavior, he doesn’t understand what's going on, but Miguel has calmed down a lot since we first rescued him.

“Miguel?”

“That's the name we gave him.” Miles swallows, not missing the way the man scoffs with a grin, unsure of what to make of the defensive feeling coursing through his veins. Everything about Tyler Stone screams evil.

“How do you feel about his release?” Stone questions, as cold and cutthroat as a blade.

Miles blinks. Why does that matter? “I think it’s a necessary step for his recovery and our research.” He’s not going to entertain his sincerest feelings with this man.

Stone observes him carefully, off-putting almost, like he’s under the beaming light of a microscope. “That so? Very well, carry on.” The man doesn’t wait for a reply as he continues his way into the building.

Miles lets out a breath he hadn’t known he was holding.

“What the fuck is up with that guy?” Gwen harshly whispers next to him. “Totally gives me the creeps. And why is he here? To see Miguel?”

Miles frowns. “I don’t know.” He hopes not.

“Good luck with that one,” Gwen scoffs. “If Miguel didn’t come up for you , he’s definitely not coming up for that old shit.”

Miles can’t shake the odd feeling in his chest after the encounter, even as he sits in Bab’s Burgers alongside his team, the persistent nagging of alarms takes root in his chest. It’s uncomfortable and frightening. So much so that he leaves the restaurant prematurely with an excuse of being tired, instead Miles gets in his car and heads straight for the sanctuary. It’s dark now, street lights beaming past Miles as he speeds down the road to the sanctuary. He fumbles with his ID at the gate, in a rush to get inside and make sure Miguel is okay.

Tyler Stone’s presence in the building couldn’t be a good sign, right? Something in his gut told him so. He shows his ID to the night staff and practically zooms into the building, he notes the significantly less amount of people there are at night, which makes sense. This is good, it means no one will bother him as much.

Miles forgoes getting into a wetsuit, simply on the principle of—I need to make sure he's okay, and steps into some water shoes before he makes his way over to Miguel’s enclosure. The room is pitch dark when he enters it, eerily so. He strains his eyes in the dark to get them to adjust to his surroundings. Miles takes tentative steps towards the water's edge and attempts to peer in, growing increasingly frustrated when his poor human eyesight can’t pierce the depths below.

He can’t see Miguel, doesn’t even know if he’s okay or not.

Anxiously, Miles rubs his hands and crumbles to the floor, sitting by the water's edge, waiting. His face sinks into his hands when the entirety of the situation crushes into him. He wants to see him.

“Please Miguel,” he utters softly, “I’m sorry, okay? I’m sorry I didn’t come see you, I’m sorry I’m so stupid. I want to see you one last time. Please.” He hates the way his voice cracks under the weight of his emotions, and is thankful he’s here on his own.

He’s whipping at his eyes when out of the corner of his eyes a flash of red catches his attention, and like a catapult, Miles' head snaps up in mach speed. The red light is extremely luminous, like a neon sign gliding through the water like a snake. His brain can’t make sense of what he’s seeing, momentarily dumbstruck by the lights as they grow nearer until Miles notices a pair of red eyes locked onto him—it’s Miguel, and those lights are—

“Bioluminescent markings!” Miles gasps, floored by the sight. “Woah! I didn’t know you could do that!”

Miguel's bronze skin is practically glowing by the time he breaches the surface, pushing his hair back with one arm resting on the tank's edge. His expression is serene, contoured by the red markings framing his face and neck, tracing and pulsing all the way down his chest and tail. Beautiful, Miles thinks in awe, leaning in against his better judgment, cupping Miguel’s cheek and brushing a thumb over a red marking like it’s a work of art. Miguel leans into his touch, his eyes never straying from chocolate brown irises, his gaze is intense. So much like a predator but with an edge to them Miles couldn’t express, so human-like.

“Why didn’t you come up?” Miles asks softly like he didn’t want to speak it at all. “You made us worry, you made me worry, I—“ he swallows the rock in his throat. “I wanted more time with you. I wanted to take pictures and make memories with you before—“ his lips close into a line and he swallows the rest, hands shaking. Miguel reaches out tentatively with his own hand and engulfs the back of Miles’ neck, bringing their foreheads together. Miles lets it happen, caught in the moment and what this display might mean since Miguel has never initiated this type of contact before. Wet eyelashes hang low on Miguel’s cheeks as he surges forward a tad and rubs their noses together.

Miles flinches back a bit when nails dig into his neck, surprised by the siren's bold proximity. Miguel doesn’t move, looking disappointed as water drips down his chin and chest, tracing his bioluminescent markings. Miles wonders what they could mean, why now of all times? That’s when Miguel opens his mouth, pearly fangs peeking from their confines. He closes it, opens it, and closes it again, like a floundering fish stuck out of water, and Miles wonders what he’s doing.

“Mah…mah—“

Miles' eyes widen. Body freezing. Miguel is—he‘s trying to—

“Mah-ee-lss,” says Miguel, in a rough attempt at English.

Miles couldn't believe it. Miguel just spoke for the first time ever, and he said his name.

Chapter Text

“PETER, HE SPOKE!”

Miles can practically feel Peter recoiling on the other end of the line from the force of his voice. He hadn’t meant to yell but, well, he’s far too excited and amazed to keep it contained. 

“Wow, Miles, calm down,” Peter manages through a yawn and groggy eyes. “It’s 2 in the morning, my daughter’s asleep and my wife’s in bed, what’s got you so worked up that it couldn’t have waited ‘till the morning?”

“Hesaidmyname!” Miles blurts out in one single breath—too fast—way too fast and out of breath.

“Wait—hold on, what?”

“Miguel! He said my name!!”

“Like in, he spoke??”

“Yes! Miguel spoke—he can speak, at least he can now, sort of? He said what sounded like my name! He also has bioluminescent markings, I saw them myself! They’re so beautiful! Oh my God! You should’ve seen them Pete and—and—”

“Wait—wait!” There’s rustling on the other end like Peter is trying to get to a spot in his house that wouldn’t disturb his family, and by the sound of rustling wind, he chose outside. Miles waits patiently with his heart in his throat, the phantom touch of Miguel’s skin against his own.

A shiver runs up his spine.

“Alright, how exactly did you discover this? Did you go back on your own to see Miguel?” Peter’s voice doesn’t sound reprimanding per se, just a tad concerned, maybe a little riled up.

Miles shrinks in on himself, thankful that he’s not in front of the man who would witness his shame on full display. “Sort of? Yeah…yeah I did. I was worried, man. I had to make sure Miguel was okay, so I went back to check on him.” He hopes Peter can understand his intentions and not grill his ass over this. There are more important and exciting things to talk about anyway.

“Why am I not surprised?” Peter sighs and Miles imagines Peter looking up at the sky in a silent prayer. “Alright well, did he say anything else?

“No, I don’t think he knows how to.” Miles touches his lips, “I think he learned to say my name after he heard it so many times, but do you understand what this means?” He all but screams through the phone, “This means he can learn to talk! If we teach Miguel how to speak, maybe he can help us learn more about him!“

“Woah, woah—teach him?” Peter cuts in, dumbfounded. “His release date is set for tomorrow, kid, we really can’t teach him much of anything now.”

Miles slumps, a disappointed frown marring his feathers. Reality is starting to settle in like sediment and he shifts uncomfortably. “Yeah but,” and he sounds so small, so hopeful, trying to bargain for something out of his control, “what if we change his release date to something later? This is way too important for us to pass up! I mean, he’s talking, Pete! Talking! Do you have any idea what this means for us? And his bioluminescent markings—we can’t just let that research go…” Please, please, please, please.

“I’m sorry, Miles,” Peter apologizes, unknowingly throwing Miles' mind into utter dismay, “it all sounds amazing but Miguel’s release date is set in stone. He’s been in captivity for far too long, he deserves to return home.”

Miles rubs his left eye, the corners of his eyes burning again. “Peter, do you understand what you’re saying? We could learn so much more! We could even discover where Miguel is from if we teach him to speak, he could show us an entire new world! Can’t you use your magical boss abilities and get the release date extended a little? We can’t let this chance slip away!”

“Miles,” Peter sounds tired, like there's indescribable amounts of weight on his shoulders, and there's this edge to his voice that makes Miles pause. A type of forbidding warning that chills him to the core. “Miguel needs to return to the ocean. If he stays any longer in the sanctuary Alchemax might—“ he stops himself and Miles holds his breath. “I’m scared Alchemax might harm him.”

The weight of the world falls onto Miles’ soul once more. His blood going cold, the nauseating sensation returning tenfold.

“Why do you say that?”

Peter sighs. “I didn’t want to disturb you with the details, kid, I wanted Miguel’s release to be a seamless one for him and everyone else but—fuck, I didn’t expect this,” Peter clears his throat, “Alchemax has been doing a lot of research on Miguel’s blood. Disturbing research.”

”Disturbing?” Miles parrots dumbly, unable to form proper sentences for a second. “I need…I need to know what. I know they’ve been doing research but…I didn’t…I don’t know what kind, I’m still confused,” he says bitterly. 

“You knew about the research? How did you find out?”

“Gwen, she told me Alchemax is doing extra research on Miguel, she said it was really sketchy stuff.”

Peter snorts acridly. “Sketchy is an understatement, I think it’s downright malicious. Listen, I want nothing more than to keep learning about Miguel too, he’s a marvelous siren, and he could potentially tell us so much more about the ocean, but it’s Pandora's Box, kid. I don’t know exactly what Alchemax is doing or what they‘re planning, but their interest in Miguel, specifically his blood, is concerning. You don’t know how hard I had to push to get his release date approved.” He sighs darkly and Miles can hear Peter fighting back a migraine. “If Alchemax continues whatever their planning I’m scared Miguel might…” The impending doom in his voice makes the space inside Miles’ car darker, deadlier, like the cracking of a bed of ice underneath your feet.

”I’m scared they will cause irreversible damage.”

Miles sits there in a daze. The grip on his phone goes limp for half a second before he clutches it in a white-knuckled grip. Peter’s words have an instant sobering effect. Just moments ago he was floating on cloud nine, a bloom of hope in his chest, now his surroundings are eating him alive.

It all makes sense now, why Peter was so adamant about Miguel’s release, why he was keeping all of this information close to his chest. To protect Miguel and everyone else from getting burned by the truth. This is Alchemax they’re talking about, a company that can get you silenced if need be. If what Peter is saying is true, getting Miguel home is the best outcome for him, as much as it pains Miles to let him go.

”You’re absolutely certain Alchemax wants to use Miguel?” Miles shudders, tone quieter as if he’s being watched. “How did you find out?”

“When I went to speak with Stone myself in Alchemax Corp, I did some digging with some help from Peni and her doohickeys, and I found files on Miguel. I didn’t get to finish reading it all but they want to harvest more of his blood. For what? I have no clue, but it can’t be good.”

”Harvest?” Miles snaps. “The blood we collect is hardly enough to harvest.”

”It’s enough for whatever research they're doing, and it means they want more.”

Miles sits back, chewing on his nails until he hits skin. He’s on the verge of a mini panic attack, his eyes focusing and unfocusing like camera shutters, head going light. “You mean to tell me we’ve been helping those fuckers harm Miguel?”

The silence is loud, almost deafening, a clear and cut confirmation.

”Unintentionally, yeah,” Peter tacks on. “Though they haven’t harmed Miguel yet , it's a possibility if he stays any longer though.”

”We need to expose them, Peter!” Miles yells.

”I thought of that, trust me,” Peter sighs on the other end, deep and inflicting, “as much as I want to do that, we have no evidence whatsoever of what exactly they're planning or what it is they want, and they practically have the legal system in their back pocket. They haven’t caused direct harm to Miguel just yet and with no evidence to back up our allegations, that's all they are at the moment, allegations. I do want to expose them but we're going to need actual evidence for that, which means…”

”Using Miguel…” Miles finishes on a final breath. “No! We can’t do that!”

”I wouldn’t dream of it,” Peter agrees and Miles can picture him shaking his head. “But this is where we stand at the moment. No evidence, just speculation. As far as I know, they haven’t done this type of research on any other sea creature in the sanctuary, so we really don’t have a case at all.”

”But—but—“ the desperation is clawing at Miles’ throat, needing to do something, say something, punch something. “We can’t let them get away with this!”

“And what should we do, Miles?” Peter says, tone harsh but not unkind, candid. “They are powerful, rich men. If we even so much as lift a finger against Alchemax, much less Stone himself, we can kiss our jobs goodbye. And that's not even the real issue, I don’t mind losing my job if it means I can save a sea creature’s life, but once we’re kicked we’ll be replaced by drones who don’t give a damn about Miguel or any of the sea creatures in that sanctuary, only the paycheck in their banks.”

“We have to at least try!” Miles pleads. “They’ve done sketchy shit in the past, right? What if we expose them? Go to the media after we gather information.”

”I’ve thought of that to be honest, many times, and I want to, but I still don’t have solid evidence, it’s so hard to get a hold of those records it’s insane. And if we went to the media now, Miguel’s existence would be leaked, and every creature in that sanctuary would suffer the blowback of exposing Alchemax because, we’ll certainly get fired, which, fair, but we won’t be able to protect them anymore, much less guarantee their release.”

The realization of how hopeless their situation is weighs Miles down painfully. He slumps against his car seat, trapped in his raging mind, choked and muted by helplessness.

“Fuck,” he curses, eyes and nose scrunching up. “FUCK!”

Another bout of silence swallows them both and it gives away to a sort of finality, like there’s nothing else to speak or discuss, nothing else they could do. Just sit there with the uncomfortable and depressing realization of being forced into a corner. In all honesty, and with added hindsight, Miles was being too hopeful, too selfish even. Miguel really shouldn’t be here at all, and trying to prolong his stay wouldn’t do him any good either. Miles breathes for what feels like the first time that night, making peace with the resignation in his heart and mind.

”Good night, Peter,” he finishes.

A pause.

“Good night, Miles.”

And the line goes dead.

Miles is starting to grow accustomed to waking up on edge every morning. The anxiety wakes him up before his own alarm does, perpetuating the bouts of anxiety in his system. He stares at the ceiling for a minute or two, limbs heavy, mind in a jumbled mess. It’s been getting harder and harder to ignore…the dread of getting up, the inclination to just…not do anything. He pushes through the ick though, because he has people and a siren who depend on him.

Today is the big day and Miguel depends on him more than ever whether the siren knows it or not.

Miles groans, limbs creaking and popping as he climbs out of bed and walks to the bathroom, not unlike a zombie. He didn’t get a wink of sleep last night, too preoccupied with thoughts of Miguel and Alchemax. There are too many underlying dangers to even focus on one in particular, muddling the entire picture, and the more Miles thinks about it, the more his mood plummets. He hopes he can at least muster some semblance of composure until he comes crashing back down to his apartment tonight.

Miles descends his apartment and gets into his car on autopilot, pressing his forehead against the steering wheel once he's buckled in, gripping the firm leather tightly.

”Fuck.”

He needs a moment, maybe longer, maybe a whole year, but a year isn’t a luxury he can afford so he settles for mere seconds of complete nullifying silence in this void. Miguel’s bioluminescent markings dance in his mind like flames, completely and utterly burned into the back of his retinas. He wishes he could see them again. Forever, in fact. There’s still so much to learn. So much to say.

”I hate this.” He thuds his forehead against the steering wheel with a whimpering sigh, repeating the words over and over again until his fists collide with the leather harshly, sapping him out of his feelings—

RING! RING!

Miles snaps forward, jolted by his cell phone going off in his pocket, he’s mentally disoriented for a split second before snatching the device and answering.

“Hey,” Miles answers, equal parts concerned and confused.

“Where are you?” Peter asks on the other end, voice pinched.

”Heading to the sanctuary now, why? What’s wrong?” The knot in Miles’ stomach twists like a decapitated snake.

”Tyler Stone is here,” Peter warns, shocking Miles’ full of anxiety. Tyler Stone being there was not part of the plan, not to his knowledge at least, so then why was he there?

”Why?” Miles demands.

”I don’t know, but they wants to speak with us. All of us, so get here as soon as you can.”

“On my way.” Miles doesn’t spare a single goodbye as he speeds down the road toward the sanctuary. He can tell by Peter’s voice that something is wrong, something is bothering him and the sooner he gets to the sanctuary—to Miguel, the sooner he can figure out a solution to whatever bullshit Tyler Stone and his men will spring on them.

He flies out of his vehicle the moment he parks his car, doesn’t even bother checking if he parked inside the white lines like most mornings. He’s pragmatic to a certain extent until his tunnel vision gets the best of him. Miles scans his badge at the front and heads straight for the conference room where he knows Peter and the rest are in. The inclination to go see Miguel right now is very strong, but he controls the impulse in favor of getting information from Peter. He can’t fuck this up, not with Tyler Stone in the premise. He’s going to need all of the information he can get.

So many questions invade Miles’ mind like an exposed hive, all louder than the last as he bursts through the office door.

”What’s going on?” He demands after shoving the door wide open, alarming everyone inside, luckily it’s only Peter, Gwen, Peni, and Pavitr from the looks of it. Peter gives him a tired glance, running a hand down his face before answering, “Tyler Stone has made an impromptu appearance as you know, and is currently holding a meeting with his leading board of scientists at Alchemax and his COOs,” he briefs quickly, sighing and squaring his shoulders. “They requested a meeting with Miguel’s leading marine biologist team. That’s us. And we're waiting for their gracious call like a fair maiden at a fucking ball.” He rolls his eyes.

”What do they want to talk to us about?” Miles' heart is pounding, cold sweat forming on his palms and forehead. This wasn't good. None of it was good.

”You’re guess is as good as mine.” Peter shakes his head. “Anything is on the table right now but I’m assuming it’s concerning Miguel and what we talked about last night.”

”They're planning something bad,” Gwen accuses, venom lacing her tone, eyes narrowed into slits. “They’re going to do something to Miguel.”

”Let’s not jump to conclusions,” Peter mitigates, palming the air in quieting motions, which only serves to make the blonde huff louder.

”But then, why are they here?” Peni adds, equally as apprehensive as the rest. “This wasn't part of the scheduled plan, they weren’t supposed to be here on Miguel’s release day, and—and they didn’t even tell you about it, Peter.” She points out.

”I know.” Peter pinches the bridge of his nose, shoulders taunt. “I guess, we’ll have to figure that part out when they tell us. They’ll be calling us soon so I need you guys to stay sharp and calm. These men are like ravaging hyenas and any sign of weakness will get you eaten alive. They’re the type to get you replaced at a moment's notice.”

”They can’t just do that,” Pavitr says, unsure. “Right…?”

”Oh, yes they can, and they will.”

”Is Miguel okay?” Miles asks because now he’s scared, now he has reason to worry beyond a reasonable doubt. If Peter is right and their meeting is about Miguel, nothing good could come of it. Dammit! Miguel’s release day was supposed to run smoothly, but now they have this fiasco on their hands.

”He’s fine last I checked, didn’t really let me see him all that well,” Peter says, going to make another cup of coffee. “I’m surprised you didn’t go see him right away.”

Miles looks away with a pinch of regret. “I didn’t know what I was walking into, I wanted more information before I…” he shakes his head. “If something was wrong with him you would’ve told me over the phone.”

Peter nods. “Correct.”

“Do you think they know he can speak?” Miles asks next, without thinking. The room goes silent for half a second before bursting into absolute chaos.

”HE CAN FUCKING WHAT?” Gwen shouts.

”Talk!? Miguel can talk?” Peni runs up to Miles, grabbing his arm and shaking.

”When did this happen?” Pavitr also surrounds Miles, backing up the young marine biologist into a wall, almost as if he were a cornered animal seconds away from being devoured.

”You didn’t tell them?” Miles snaps his head at Peter who shrugs with a smile, sipping his cup of decaf.

”It was your discovery, kid, I thought I’d leave the honors to you.”

”When did this happen?” Pavitr shakes Miles’ arm.

”What did he say!?” Gwen demands, seizing Miles by the shoulders and ruffling him like a poor rag doll.

”Ack—“ Miles moves away with a jump, disturbed. “Maybe if you’d give me some damn space I can say something. Bunch of psychos…” He whispers the last part, straightening his clothes. ”He said my name—well he tried saying it at least, the English was a little broken but it sounded so smooth,” Miles says, nervous about the whole thing, like a spring-loaded gun aimed at his head. Everyone’s eyes were wide and full of astonishment and wonder, ‘gasps’ and ‘wows’ filling the room.

“This day just keeps getting more unbelievable,” Pavitr pouts good-naturedly.

”He said your name?! Oh my god, that's incredible, Miles!” Peni all but jumps. “This means he can learn more if we teach him!”

”That's what I sayin’!” He smiles, the gravity of their situation momentarily forgotten.

“It’s incredible…” Gwen steps back, amazed by the information. “He’s learning how to mimic human language in such a short time? Not even mermaids with exposure to humans for years could learn a single word.”

”It’s amazing, yeah.” Miles breathes, attempting to calm the pounding in his chest. “My heart almost stopped when I heard him say my name…I was so surprised, I still can’t believe it,” he admits, rubbing his arms in a self-soothing motion. “There’s still so much about Miguel we don't know. It’s almost criminal that we have to let him go so soon.” He frowns at the ground. “But if it means he’ll be safe I’m willing to risk everything to keep those men from doing whatever they're planning.”

“So…we think they're planning something..bad?” Peni offers, unsure.

”I don’t know,” Miles sighs, “but whatever they're discussing in there, I don’t have a good feeling about it.”

”Me neither,” Gwen agrees, squaring her shoulders. “Ever since we discovered they’ve been researching Miguel’s blood, somethings been fishy, pun intended. They're even screwing up his release schedule!”

”Do you think they're going to postpone his release date?” Pavitr asks, looking nervous. “I mean, it’s the most logical conclusion, right? Why else would they be here on this specific day?”

”Yeah, I honestly don’t think they’re here to bid Miguel a good farewell,” Peter agrees, rubbing his stubble. “Whatever they're here for I don’t think it's a good thing either.”

”I guess it all depends on what they tell us,” Miles settles with a sigh. “We’re not even remotely prepared for whatever they're planning.“

”We should go see Miguel,” Peni proposes, chewing her lips.

”I think you’re right,” Miles straightens.

”What if they call us?” Pavitr intervenes.

Gwen stomps her foot. ”Fuck those old pieces of shi—“

The door opens at the worst possible moment, cutting Gwen's outburst in half almost comically. Two men in suits that Miles doesn’t recognize enter the room, bringing with them an air of tension. It takes everything in Miles not to demand answers right away, but he knows he won't get much out of them. Cogs in a machine wouldn’t give much information anyway, so he stands defensively and waits.

”We appreciate your patience,” one of them begins, “Tyler Stone and the board would like to speak with you all now. Please follow us and we’ll direct you to the conference room.” The monotone timber of his voice does little to quell Miles’ nerves as they walk out of the room. They’re led into a part of the sanctuary Miles rarely visits, the meeting halls, littered with empty offices and chairs for conference meetings. They don’t usually use these spaces since most of their research is carried out in-field or in the tanks themselves. And when they do hold meetings of the sort, they always hold them in the changing rooms space, since it comes with a little office-like area they’ve curated as their base. As unprofessional as it sounds, there's a strange comfort to it. Why change what works, right?

The strange coldness and detachedness of these rooms make Miles never want to come back here again, and his stomach twists with anxiety and some unnamed emotion as they all file into a conference room and face the board of directors. They’re all older men, wrinkly and graying, their faces stoic and unrecognizable, no light in their eyes, and at the very center like a stoic statue—Tyler Stone.

”Welcome, I’m sorry to keep you all waiting, there are many important matters to discuss before seeing you all,” Stone explains, getting up from his chair and adjusting his tie and suit, a faux show of openness. “I want to begin by congratulating you all on your hard work and research concerning Specimen 928B-2099. Your individual commitment to marine life is of the highest class and extremely valuable to the company.”

‘Valuable’, Miles thinks bitterly, it’s all just value and numbers to him.

“No easy feat considering the daunting task, that siren is the first of its kind, after all,” Stone continues, walking around the room and stopping behind Peter, dropping a hand on his shoulder and squeezing, almost making the man flinch.

“I’ve read your reports, very impressive, your team has managed to tame that Siren in record time. I’ve heard it has a nasty attitude.”

It isn’t nasty , Miles glares, hoping his reaction isn't noticed. It’s natural for Miguel to be defensive around things he doesn’t understand. It’s called survival instinct, dipshit.

“In fact, the siren is precisely the reason why I’ve called you all in here today,” Tyler Stone announces louder this time, and the entire room is rapt with attention and silence, not that anyone would dare talk over him at this moment, the tension is as thick as steel.

Tyler Stone stares them all down. ”Due to recent discoveries and breakthroughs in research, Specimen 928B-2099’s release has been postponed until further notice.”

”What?”

All eyes slingshot toward Miles, who unintentionally slammed his palm against the table with unbidden force. His breathing halts when he notices the pinprick of multiple eyes pinning him in place like a taxidermied animal.

”Miles Morales, correct?” Stone continues in the deep drawl of his, not a hitch in his words as he faces the young man. “You are particularly brilliant and attached to the siren, or so I’ve been informed. I know this must come as a shock to you and your team, seeing as how the original goal was to rehabilitate and release the creature. We’ll eventually be able to get to that point, however, now there are more important matters at play here.”

”Like what?” Gwen demands, not hiding her clear suspicion. “What could be more important than releasing a siren back to the ocean where he belongs.”

“I’m glad you asked.” Stone smiles, a wicked, mirthless thing. No warmth, no happiness, only contempt and calculativeness. He motions for something with his hands and in an instant they are drenched in darkness, it’s haunting until a luminescence ray cuts through the darkness and a projector shines intensely in the far corner. Miles blinks the momentary disorientation away and turns towards the far wall at the end of the room where the projector is beaming information he’s never seen before, a diagram of Miguel on the wall. All so clinical, so mechanical, letters and numbers on screen he couldn’t discern just quite yet.

”After extensive research on the sirens blood,” Stone continues, as precise and cut-throat as a saw, “Specimen 928B-2099 blood has shown to contain incredible regenerative and healing capabilities. These regenerative abilities are produced at such a high rate it is almost instant, and an unmatched healing property completely unknown to mankind. Similar to how important and ground-breaking the discovery of what a horseshoe crab’s blue blood could do, Miguel’s own greatly surpasses it in value.”

Miles is horrified by what he’s hearing and seeing on screen. The whites of his eyes are all-encompassing as they stare at what feels like a death sentence.

”After months of research, albeit still in its infantile stages, the cells in the siren's blood have shown to be compatible with human cells and immune systems of the like. Regeneration of severed limbs and deep wounds heal and grow back at an alarming 200% rate, with more efficiency than any modern science or medicine could ever hope to produce. As you can see by the data shown, this can completely change the trajectory of human medicine and biomedical fields like nothing before. It will even surpass the discovery of antibiotics itself.”

It’s like there's no room for oxygen left in Miles’ space, too shocked and stupefied by the information to utter a single word. His chest is caving, his lungs constrict and suddenly it’s getting hard to keep upright.

”After the sirens blood is harvested, processed, and refined, we separate the protein needed for regeneration, it is turned into what we’ve called—“

The screen changes and words splayed in red like blood dripping down before them.

”Rapture.”

“You can’t be serious!” Peter slams his fist on the table, raising his voice for the first time that day in a room that felt ten times deadlier than it should. “Are you planning on using him as a personal blood bank for all of this? You’ll kill him!”

“The process is harmless and the siren will be maintained in good health, this is why we have your team here after all,” Stone dismisses the worry with a clinical tone. “Think of all the lives that can be changed—saved. Rapture has been shown to regenerate cells and even limbs! This is a scientific breakthrough of the greatest caliber.”

You don’t give a fuck about human lives! Miles almost yells, openly glaring at the man, You only care about the loads of money that will bring you!

“You think one single siren will give you enough blood to sustain even half a hospital?” Miles accuses, enraged. “Peter’s right, you’ll kill Miguel before it even happens!”

”Ah, this is where you and your lovely team come into play,” Stone interjects, as meticulous and collected as a machine, he’s thought of everything, hasn't he? “We need the siren to reproduce, and you will make that happen.”

The room goes still for the second time that day. It’s as if the color had drained from the walls entirely, replaced with molding tar.

”What?” Miles’ mouth unhinges.

”Indeed, a single siren can not supply enough blood for even a handful of people, that is why I am assigning your team, Peter, the ones who are most familiar and comfortable with the specimen, to induce a coupling that bears proper product.”

”You can’t be serious?” Peter cuts in. “We still don’t even know what Miguel’s diet is and you want us to have him bred like a bull? We don’t even have another siren to begin that kind of research, not to mention the knowledge to make it happen.”

“You’re team discovered how similar mermaids and sirens are to each other, have you not?” I’ve read Pavitr’s report.”

They all turn towards said biologist who sits there agape.

Stone’s eyes narrow. “You mentioned there's a chance of compatibility, did you not?”

Pavitr opens and closes his mouth like a floundering fish. “I proposed a possibility, yes… doesn’t mean it’s possible.”

“‘Like cousins’ your reports said, a tiger and a lion, and how amazing that is,” Stone continues, as if the words coming out of his mouth weren’t utterly insane and inhumane. “We can test the compatibility of a siren and mermaid by coupling and producing offspring, which can then be tested for the protein in rapture; we'll see how much of the sirens' regenerative capabilities are passed down. If the percentage is high enough, we might have found a cure to many human suffering.”

“What about Miguel’s suffering?” Miles stands, appalled. “He’s going to be a genie pig for the rest of his life, jailed in a fish tank and poked his entire life. Forced to produce offspring. What about him!”

“A small price to pay for humanity,” Stone finishes with a glare and a strike of his finger against the table. Miles couldn’t believe this. He couldn’t. This wasn't real. He wanted to strangle the man before him.

”You can’t expect us to set a mermaid in Miguel’s tank!” Gwen spits, enraged. “He’s highly territorial and aggressive, he’ll kill whatever we set in there!”

”And I expect you to figure out a way for that not to happen, Miss. Stacy.”

”That is so unbelievably cruel to both Miguel and the mermaids,” Peni says. “Can’t you see that?”

”The siren's fate is not completely set for suffrage, if he produces enough offspring with regenerative capabilities like himself, who knows, he might have an early retirement and even be returned to the ocean, but as it stands now, he is far too precious of a specimen to release.”

”You can’t expect us to do this!” Peni stands as well, eyes alight with indignation and rage. “It’s unorthodox! Miguel is a living creature who should be returned home!”

“Certain solutions require unorthodox methods, Miss. Parker.” Stone says with a downturn of his lips as if disgusted by her empathy. “The siren's role in all of this is non-negotiable, but I’m not enforcing this upon your team if you do not wish to do it. I will assign another group to the siren and begin its transfer into a lab.”

He’s threatening us, Miles rages internally, the corners of his eyes pricking with agony. He’s using our own jobs and Miguel’s safety against us, that fucking monster!

“That won’t be necessary,” Peter says, a lot calmer and more monotone than before, the look in his eyes cold and dark. “We will accept the assignment,” he finishes like the drop of a rock on glass, boiling anger tiptoeing the edges of his otherwise calm voice.

”Perfect,” Tyler Stone dares to smile as if he hadn’t just shaken the ground beneath them. “I expected nothing less from your collective reasoning, Peter,” he compliments, smiling sickly, and what an ugly thing it is. “Do not fail me.”

Miles’ head snaps towards Peter in shock and disgust, betrayal shines clear in the raw of his brown eyes. He opens his mouth to object but Peter cuts him off by rising from his chair and clamping a hand on his shoulder. “We will need further details on the assignment, a written outline, and all of the research you’ve compiled so far. If you want the highest success rate, my team and I cannot go into this blind. We need to know specific details and data. Everything.”

”Of course, a team of Alchemax researchers will be assigned to this facility and will be giving you all of the data that you and your team will need. Further questions will be directed to their team lead, who will get in contact with you in a day's time. You are all dismissed, oh and I’m sure you know but all information of the siren and consecutive research is prohibited from being spoken, written, shared, or leaked per NDA standards. I hope you know that all information is classified and protected by Alchemax Corporation. If any of it gets to the public, media, or even your grandmother I will know and will take legal action accordingly. You are all dismissed.”

“WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU JUST DO!?” Miles slams Peter against the changing room wall with extreme force and anger, knocking the man's head against drywall violently. Gwen, Peni, and Pavitr shuffle to get Miles off Peter but his grip is iron-clad. “What the actual fuck did you agree me to, Peter?!” Miles fumes. “I didn’t agree to any of this shit!”

”Miles, calm down!” Peni insists, hugging one of his arms.

”We’re all shocked and angry but you can’t take it out on Peter!” Gwen shouts.

”The fuck I can't! He agreed to that monster's plan! He’s signing us over to carry Miguel’s death sentence!” Miles tries shaking off their grip while simultaneously dealing with the gaping hole currently wedging itself further and further into his heart. He couldn’t believe it. It wasn't real. All of it was disgusting. All of them should rot. He wanted to cry. He wanted to throw up. He wanted to kill that mother fucker in that conference room.

”I did what was necessary, MIles,” Peter responds, eerily calm, a veil of something broken covering his eyes as he stands properly again.

”What the fuck is necessary ?” Miles spits back, anger renewed. “You’re okay with those greedy pieces of shit turning Miguel into a personal blood bank and breeding bull? What the fuck kinda necessity is that? They’ll kill him!”

”And what should I have done?!” Peter yells back, cracking under the stress and pressure. “Should I have gone on a rampage and declared my unwavering opposition to a room full of powerful men who have gotten people silenced in the past for much less?”

Miles stills, words caught in his throat. The room goes cold.

”I did what I needed to do to keep us here and Miguel alive as long as possible. You don’t understand the threat behind Stone’s words but I did. If we don’t agree to his commands we'd never see Miguel again, and he’d never see the light of day either, much less the ocean.” Peter takes strong and decisive steps towards Miles, backing him up into a corner and wrenching him by the crux of his shirt, forcing him to look him in the eyes.

”You want to save Miguel? You have to stay here and do what they say for now. There is no other option. If you disagree those men will replace us with soulless drones who don’t give a single fuck about Miguel or his well-being. Do you understand that!?” Peter shakes Miles who goes limp and numb everywhere. “If we want to keep Miguel alive, we have to play along.”

Miles wrenches away, he wants to throw up, feels the bile inch up his throat. He can’t take this. He hates this! He can't handle this. His stomach seizes and he walks over to the sink, away from Peter and everyone else before he throws up all over them. Miles dry heaves into the sink, his hands doing a piss-poor job at keeping him stable against the counter.

For the first time in his life, Miles breaks down in front of everyone.

Chapter Text

“How do we even go about this?”

The conversation plays in Miles’ head over and over again like a broken record, head murky like he’s underwater as he makes his way toward Miguel’s tank.

“As far as we know, everything we’ve set in Miguel’s tank is either devoured or destroyed,” Gwen speaks up, running tired hands through her scalp, “He’s highly territorial and he’ll probably kill any living creature we set in there. How does Alchemax expect us to set a whole mermaid in there? Let alone get them to mate!” Gwen’s shouts echo in his mind and he grimaces, scanning his ID card and entering the base level of Miguel’s enclosure, finding his destination bathed in blue.

“We need to start off slow, obviously,” Peter says, picking at his brain for ideas. “Introduce him to small inanimate things to slowly get him used to the idea. Just like we condition him to monthly checkups, we can condition him to be around sea life without hurting them.”

”It's so easy to get wildlife to eat but to mate? That can be tricky in captivity for certain species,” Pavitr adds. “Especially since we know nothing about a siren's mating cycles.”

“Then we have to start from ground zero,” Miles says, arms crossed, face set into stern lines. “Learn his mating habits somehow. Not for Alchemax, but to help us understand him and postpone this thing.”

”Easier said than done,” Pavitr blows air into his bangs.

Miles frowns, contemplating his next words carefully. “Remember when I mentioned Miguel spoke English? Well, that's not the only thing he did that night.”

”Don’t tell me he tried mating with you, Miles!” Gwen grins, a boisterous laugh escaping her lips, giving him a good-humored pat on the back.

”No!” Miles’ face twisting, cheeks heating, thankful that the evidence of his embarrassment isn’t seen. “Why would you think that?”

”Oh, come on,” Gwen rolls her eyes with a surge of her shoulders, “Miguel is practically in love with you. A big lovesick puppy.”

”That isn't true! Miguel, he…” Miles shakes his head, touching his neck. “Nah, it’s still too early to tell if sirens can even feel something like that.” He stills, quieting his heart. “But he did do something we’ve never seen before.”

”Oh, right, that thing,” Peter remembers.

”What thing?” Peni all but demands. “There’s another thing?”

”There's another thing.” Miles nods, scratching the back of his neck. Why is he nervous all of a sudden? “That night, before Miguel even spoke, he showed me something.”

”What is it?!” Peni practically jumps across the table.

“He was glowing in the water with bioluminescent markings all over his body. You guys should’ve seen it, It was so cool, and it was like—” Miles pauses, unsure if saying ‘he was a star among the cosmos’ was overdoing it or not. “He was trying to tell me something,” he says instead.

“Wow, our resident siren can glow?” Gwen’s brows raise, all child-like with wonder. “What do you think it means?”

”Oh my gosh! Miguel just keeps getting better and better! Bioluminescent markings are so breathtaking!” Peni adds, vibrating with happiness.

”Incredible! What color were they?” Pavitr asks, leaning in.

“A vibrant red, some were blue but those were closer towards the end of his tail,” Miles explains, imagining Miguel before him, “He has all these markings splayed across his body and it made me wonder: why is he showing me this in that moment? What is the significance? Couldn’t be for hunting purposes, like an angler fish.”

”Oh my god,” Gwen gasps, mouth hanging open like a fish. “He really did try to mate with you…”

Miles' lips form into a line. ”In the wild, bioluminescence is used for a lot of things, some to ward off predators, others to lure in prey, and some…”

”To attract a mate…” Peni finishes, mirroring Gwen’s expression. “Miles, Miguel is trying to court you!”

”It’s too soon to tell if it’s really that!” Miles defends, waving a hand in a frenzy, trying to work out all the jumbled thoughts in his mind. “I—we don’t know yet, we’re going to have to study his bioluminescence more.”

”Come to think of it, Miles,” Peter speaks up, index finger curled over his chin, as if on the verge of a revelation, “Miguel has always been rather particular about who feeds him, in fact, he won’t let anyone else feed him but you, right?”

”Right…”

”What if the practice of feeding is significant to sirens? I mean, weren’t you the first to hand-feed him fish?”

”Yeah, and I got a face full of water for it.”

”Right, and Miguel acted like he got personally offended when you offered him a fish, hilarious really, but—oh my God, what if that simple act of hand feeding initiated something and you were courting him in ‘siren language’ this entire time? Just think about it, sirens are strong predators that don’t need someone hunting for them, so maybe the act of giving a fish is a form of courting? It would explain why he’s so particular when it comes to who feeds him, and why he often seems ‘jealous’ when your attention isn't on him. Does this mean sirens are monogamous? Didn’t you say he’s tried feeding you fish before too?”

”Well…yeah, wait he seems jealous when I don't pay attention to him?” Miles blinks.

“Oh my God!” Gwen gasps, slamming her palms on the table. “Miles has been asking Miguel out this entire time?”

”I had no idea!” Miles asserts, strangely defensive, though he doesn't know why, it’s not like he’s hiding any ill intent. His team knows it. Miles knows it. So then why is he so defensive? “We still don’t know if any of these theories are true, it’s all speculation for now,” he says, the heat in his cheeks increasing. But if their theories are true…then Miguel…this entire time…

“So you think his bioluminescence is courting behavior?” Peni says, less of a question and more of a general possibility.

”It’s an educated guess, because, if not for courting then I’m not sure what they mean.”

”Are we really going through with this though?” Pavitr speaks up, bringing a more serious undertone back to the table. “Are we really getting Miguel to mate with a mermaid? I know I proposed the question, but I don’t think it’s a good idea at all.”

”God no, we can’t allow it to happen,” Peter affirms with a shake of his head, straightening in his chair. “It’s unethical and dangerous as hell, even if we do get Miguel to successfully mate with a mermaid, and they produce offspring, those offspring will just turn into blood banks for Alchemax.”

”So, what do we do?” Miles says.

”We have to stall the research as much as possible and figure out a way to get Miguel out of here.”

”A bust-out mission!” Gwen pumps a fist.

”Exactly.” Peter nods with a finger gun pointed her way. “Though, we can’t act completely idle or we’ll get kicked, Alchemax is sending their own research team in a week's time, they’ll want to see results eventually or they’ll fire us all. We will have to do legitimate testing and research on Miguel, as awful as that sounds. While we do it though, we’ll figure out a way to get him out of there before any mating can occur.”

”Oh! I know of a great idea!” Peni all but jumps up, shaking the contents on the table with her excitement. “My parent's villa!”

They all blink. Villa?

”My family owns this really huge and secluded villa by the ocean we rarely go to, it’s so spacious and fortified, I bet we can build a temporary holding tank for Miguel once we rescue him from Alchemax! And since we’ll be so close to the ocean we can get him acclimated back into the water!”

”That sounds amazing, Peni, but won’t your parents question why you’re suddenly using your villa?” Miles asks, “What if they find out?”

”My parents will have to be let in on the secret. I won’t be able to do this without their support after all…” Her shoulders deflate for only half a second before bouncing up again. “But I’m sure they’ll agree! They love wildlife as much as I do, and when I tell them Miguel’s story, I’m sure they’ll want to help him! I’m sure of it.”

”We trust you.” Peter nods, looking around to see everyone else nodding too. “Thank you, Peni.”

“How long of a process are we looking at here?” Gwen asks.

”I’m not sure, we’ll have to contract construction workers and make arrangements…we’re gonna have to build a custom tank for him, and get everything ready for Miguel to be there for a bit. It won’t be as big of a tank as the one he’s in now but,” Peni pouts a bit, “it’ll have to do.”

”We also have to get enough people in on this rescue mission to get him out of this place, there's cameras in every corner and logs on everyone that enters and exits, we’re going to have to get someone in security involved if we want a smooth rescue,” Pavitr adds.

”Hobie’s our guy,” Miles says, confident that he’ll agree with them when they explain it all. “He’ll definitely pull though, nobody hates Alchemax more than Hobie. He‘s been plotting their demise since day one I think”

”Then it’s settled, operation rescue Miguel begins now!”

Miles walks through the ground-level entrance of Miguel’s enclosure with something in the recesses of his unconscious troubling him. The memory of their conversation deep on his mind as the aquamarine glow reflects off every surface, bathing the space and an almost ethereal glow. He walks up to the clear pane and instantly feels a surge of warmth when he sees Miguel swimming along the faux sea bed like a leviathan. The siren notices Miles and approaches him, tilting his head ever so slightly.

”Hey,” Miles says, placing a palm on the glass, but Miguel frowns and points up, a gesture he’s learned as of late. Surface, he keeps pointing with a frown, as if wondering why Miles is greeting him down here and not up there, or maybe he thinks Miles is stuck underwater? He isn’t too sure how much of a grasp Miguel has on the concept of a tank.

“I’ll go up in a bit,” he explains, knowing Miguel can’t hear him but feeling like he needs to explain himself anyway. In all honesty, he wishes he could just stand here and admire Miguel all day. Wouldn’t that be a dream?

Miguel’s frown deepens, swimming away with a pout and a flick of his tail, he goes somewhere behind the rocks and comes back seconds later with something in his hands.

The seashell Miles gifted him. He holds it in both palms like he is carrying the world in his hands, carefully and with so much delicateness. Miguel shows it to Miles before grasping it and pressing it to his ear like he taught him, and Miles melts instantly. I want to protect you , he thinks, the resolution cementing in his mind. I can’t lose you.

He thinks back to the conversation with his team, about Miguel’s courting habits and wonders if this entire time Miguel has been trying to get that message across to him. Miles is pretty dense when it comes to those things, even for human standards, let alone siren standards. It must have been so frustrating for Miguel. 

Miles' cheeks burn at the thought, he doesn’t know why, suddenly he’s self-conscious under Miguel’s gaze as it searches the depths of his own. He stares at the siren more seriously, and thinks, I want to be with you.

The thought slaps him harshly and Miles shakes his head. What a stupid idea. Miguel is a siren, not a human, even if Miguel intends to court him, he doesn’t understand what he’s initiating and with whom. His courting behavior is probably instinctual too, and it would be more like taking advantage of Miguel’s instincts and nature. A facet the siren has no control over, but one that Miles is fully aware of, even if Miguel isn’t, and the thought makes him queasy. Miguel deserves a siren like him, someone who can swim with him in the depths of the ocean, not someone who observes him through a cold-glass tank like a scientist.

He turns and leaves, his chest heavier than when he arrived. He ascends the two stories to the top level where the rest of his team is waiting for him.

”How’s our lovely siren doing, Miles?” Peter asks, squeezing his shoulder.

”Good, all things considered, he’s good.”

”Alright, first order of business, we get Miguel used to having multiple people in his enclosure. Once Alchemax’s team arrives there's going to be a lot more footwork around his tank. We don’t want to stress the big guy out, so let's get him acclimated now. Miles you’ll feed him breakfast while we work in the background, it’s okay if Miguel doesn’t warm up to us at first, there's always tomorrow and the next.”

”Right,” Miles sighs, filling the two large feeding buckets with Miguel’s favorite fish and leading the charge into the enclosure, an anxious spike poking his stomach as he enters, and to his surprise, Miguel is already poking his head out of the water to greet them. It makes him pause a bit.

”Will you look at that,” Peter says, a smile in his voice.

”That's a first,” Gwen adds, equally as surprised.

Miles almost rushes to Miguel’s side and hugs him, the desire coming out of nowhere. He watches as the siren’s posture goes rigid when he notices the number of people entering his enclosure. Miguel frowns, hiding most of his face underwater with a growl, bubbles coming up his lips as he backs away slightly.

”Miguel,” Miles greets, kneeling beside the ledge and extending his palm out for him to touch if he so chooses to, “it’s okay, you know them right? That's Peter, Gwen, Peni, and Pavitr, they’re not going to hurt you.”

Miguel doesn’t respond, glaring at the group who makes slow movements around his tank, his spines rise, prickly as ever, like that of a frizzled cat, and Miles tries desperately to get the territorial siren to calm down.

”Fish?” He says the word he knows Miguel recognizes as food and instantly gets him to look over slightly. Miles smiles. “Fish,” he repeats. “Do you want some fish?” Miles reaches into the bucket and takes out a fish by the tail, dangling it in front of him like a prize. Miguel inches forward a bit before stopping mid-swim when he notices Pavitr and Peni close to them. A hiss bellows through the water like sonar, bouncing off the walls in warning. Miguel is clearly agitated by so many people in his enclosure, and Miles wishes they didn’t have to put him through this at all.

”It’s okay, Miguel,” Miles soothes, motioning for Pavitr and Peni to give them some space. “It’s okay.”

Miguel’s frown doesn’t ease but he inches closer, only to shoot water at Miles’ face in an act of defiance, getting a chuckle from Gwen somewhere in the back. Miles wipes the water like a champ, used to the siren's mini temper tantrums. Clearly, Miguel doesn’t like what is happening, and he wants Miles to do something about it since he’s stuck in the water.

”Miguel, it’s okay,” Miles says once more, placing the fish in the water as a way to meet him halfway. “Take your time.” He places more fish in the water as a way to coax Miguel out, who still is keeping his distance while glaring and hissing at everyone, his tail flukes flick in and out of the water like an agitated cat, slapping the surface a couple of times. So territorial , Miles thinks, how do they expect us to make him mate?

Miles plans on just kneeling there and observing him until he feels comfortable enough to grow near, not expecting him to do so on the first day of his conditioning. Before Miles can understand what's happening though, a flash of red shoots out like a bolt of lightning, so fast he almost misses it. The red wire-like line attaches itself to the fish and drags it underwater, only to reappear in Miguel’s hands who swallows it whole with a single bite. Miles crouches there stunned, almost falling back on his ass in disbelief.

What just happened?

”Holy shit,” he gasps.

”Miles, what happened?” Peter asks, hearing the shock in the biologist’s voice.

”Miguel…he…” he can’t even finish the sentence before another flash of red shoots through the water in rapid succession, leaving Miles speechless. He watches the red flash, almost like a spear, puncture the fish in front of him and whip back to Miguel like a harpoon. ”He shot something toward the fish!” Miles stands at Mach speed, seeing stars for a split second before balancing himself. “Peter! Did you see?“

”I saw it,” Peter says, mouth almost to the floor. “Holy shit, he just keeps surprising us, doesn’t he?”

”I missed it! What does Miguel have?” Gwen says, inching closer, along with Peni and Pavitr who all want to see what all the commotion is about, making Miguel scrunch up his nose and dive for his hide.

“What was that?” Peni asks, astonished.

”You saw it too?” Miles turns to her.

”I caught the tail end of it, it happened so fast.”

”It looked like some type of tentacle, it was glowing almost. It shot out from him like a spear,” Miles explains, making motions with his hands, “he used it to grapple the fish and bring it to him. Oh my god, is this how he hunts?”

”No! I missed it!” Gwen almost pulls her hair out in disappointment.

”It’s certainly something we've never seen before,” Peter begins, taking notes, “He seems to use it as a way to get the fish without having to get close to any of us. Smart cookie, isn’t he?”

”Was it a stress response or something he commonly does in the wild I wonder?” Pavitr asks, rubbing his chin.

”I’m not too sure,” Miles says, searching the water for any hint of Miguel as he places more fish in his tank, hoping to get him to repeat the action. “He’s never done that before, even when we’ve placed live fish in there.”

”Probably because they were smaller prey for him,” Peni begins, walking back and forth as a way to work her mind. “In captivity, Miguel doesn’t have to put much effort into hunting smaller prey, especially since most of the time we feed him lifeless ones. There's no real reason for him to even try, but there's a chance that what we just witnessed takes a lot of energy out of him, kind of like the rapid sprint of a cheetah, or a chameleon shooting out its tongue. A kind of thing he doesn’t use unless absolutely necessary. In this case, Miguel might have felt threatened by all of us being here so he used his…what do we even call that? Appendage? To grab his food.”

“I still can’t believe there's still so much to learn about him. We still haven't seen his stinger in action either, we’re just scratching the surface.” Miles places both hands on top of his head in disbelief. “But if your hypothesis is true and Miguel does feel threatened by the amount of people in here, we might have to go even slower.”

“You’re probably right,” Peter agrees, gathering his things, “let's leave the big guy to finish his breakfast in peace. Next time Miles feeds him we’ll have two people enter with him, once he’s used to that, we’ll add one more and so and so forth.”

The next time Miles sees Miguel he’s accompanied by Pavitr and Gwen. Once again, Miguel is waiting for them at the surface with a frown. He knows they are testing his boundaries and the siren huffs, displeased. Today it seems the siren is more confrontational and aggressive than yesterday, hissing at the trio as they get close.

”It’s like he knows something bad is going to come of this,” Gwen smirks, hands on her hip as they stand a good distance away from Miguel who is guarding the lip of his tank defensively, swimming back and forth like a raging bull, daring them to move closer. “This change in atmosphere is probably sending his defensive instincts into overdrive.”

”Now imagine how he’ll feel when we actually set things in his tank,” Pavitr cringes, busying himself with cleaning the floors and equipment on the surface. “Not to mention we’re eventually going to have to manually clean the inside of his tank. The filtration system is top-notch, but someone’s gonna have to go in there and detail clean the glass.”

”That's a task for Miles,” Gwen pats the guy’s shoulder, smiling. “He might try to whisk you away while he’s at it though.”

”Very funny.” Miles deadpans, handing Gwen a mop. “Help Pavitr out while I give Miguel his breakfast, but stay close so he gets used to you both.”

Gwen snatches the mop, not excited to be stuck with cleaning duty. Miles pays her grumble no mind as he turns to face Miguel, who is still making territorial circles by the edge of the water, watching them with a hyper-focused stare. His eyes look so aware, wide, and alert like a true predator. Miles’ heart tightens involuntarily. It’s true that they’re planning something and Miguel can probably sense the intent, but he wishes he could explain all of the nuances to their actions.

”Miguel, do you want breakfast ? Fish?” Miles starts, slowly inching closer to the irritated siren who flicks his tail on the surface of the water, his glare is directed at Gwen and Pavitr. He must know they’re not here to harm him, this isn’t the first time Miguel is around either of them, so why the high displays of territorialism?

”Hey, it’s okay, it’s okay. Look at me.” Miles pats his own chest, kneeling beside the edge of the water. “Miles,” he says. “It’s me, Miles.” Finally, Miguel looks over at him, features softening just a bit, if only a bit. Miles reaches out and holds the palm of his hand out in front of the siren who noses at it carefully before nuzzling his face into it. Miles melts. Positively smitten by Miguel who takes his hand and gently tugs him closer to the water, testing the boundaries, wanting Miles to dive in with him. Miles smiles and shakes his head.

”I can’t go in there,” he says softly, retracting his hand and running it through Miguel’s hair. “Do you want fish ?”

Miguel looks conflicted, his stare reverent as he looks up at Miles, perhaps caution mixed in there too. Miles can tell Miguel is hesitating, cautiously glancing over at Gwen and Pavitr who have split off in opposite directions of the room to observe the encounter from afar while performing their tasks.

”Ma-eels,” Miguel tries saying, but it sounds strained, like a whine. It has Miles’ heart lurching in his chest, trying to act as calm and collected as he can, stopping the urge to look over at Gwen and Pavitr and tell them to leave. Instead, he runs another caress through Miguel’s cheek and hair, who nestles into the touch, closing his eyes. “Ma-eels,” he repeats, deeper, the water reverberating with the sounds. “Ma-eels, nuu-“

Miles stuns back a bit, shocked by the fact that Miguel is trying to form a sentence right before his ears. He doesn’t dare speak, not wanting to break the moment with even an ounce of breathing. He leans over to get as close to Miguel as possible, moving his own lips as if to help the siren vocalize whatever he’s trying to say. Eyes wide, utterly enraptured by the moment.

“Mah-eels, no,” Miguel says almost perfectly, interlocking their fingers and Miles sucks an air of astonishment, he hears a gasp from someone in the back, taking Miguel’s attention with it. The switch is instant, the frown appears again and the wrinkles between his nose come back tenfold with a snap of his jaw. Miguel leans away and with a powerful flick of his tail, goes back to his territorial circling, making several rounds around his tank like it's his lifeline.

”Miles! Miles!” Gwen calls from the side excitedly, practically radiating with fascination as she beckons him over. “He really spoke! I heard him!” She says, doing little excited bounces on the tips of her feet. “So cool!”

”I know right?” Miles agrees wholeheartedly, his smile meeting his eyes. “But he’s so standoffish right now, it’s got me a little worried…”

”I wonder what’s got him so riled up? I mean, I know he doesn't like too many people around his tank, but it just feels like it's something more,” Gwen pouts with a pensive frown, wiping sweat from her brow as the trio gather in the far corner of the enclosure, giving Miguel some semblance of privacy. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen him this territorial before, not even when he first arrived.”

”I think I might have a theory as to why,” Pavitr speaks up, sitting on an overturned bucket.

”So do I,” Miles adds, looking toward Miguel’s direction. “Did you hear what he said?”

”Your name and something else I couldn’t quite make out,” Gwen says.

“He said ‘Miles no’.”

”No?” Pav repeats, leaning back. “Does he understand what no means? Or is he simply repeating the word?”

Miles takes a moment to think about this, not sure about the latter. “Miguel is really smart, maybe more so than we originally thought, I don’t think he’s repeating the word just for the sake of repeating it. He knows what shaking your head no means too.”

“He’s clearly protesting something,” Pavitr surmises gently with a curved knuckle to his lips, “he understands that ‘no’ has a negative connotation, a type of word that conveys stopping something. What exactly he’s trying to stop is the big question.”

”I don’t know….” Miles admits, looking back at Miguel who is still circling his tank like a hawk. “This all started after he showed me his bioluminescent markings…if they’re really for courting and attracting a mate then his display of territorialism might be…”

”Sexual aggression?” Gwen finishes.

“Not what I was gonna say.” Miles deadpans, though maybe there's a bit of truth to that too. “But he’s guarding his territory for potential threats, like a lion defending his pride, something like that. Just a moment ago he tried tugging me into the water.”

”He wants us gone so he can have his way with you!” Gwen snorts, patting Miles back in fly-swatting motions. He chokes on air.

Pavitr snorts, rubbing his face. “This might work in our favor or completely ruin our plan.”

Miles and Gwen lean in carefully, prompting him to continue. “Think about it, if Miguel is trying to court Miles it might mean he’s in season. Hell, maybe sirens don’t even have a ‘season’ since climate doesn’t really affect anything down in the depths of the ocean but,” he makes motions with his hand, explaining as he goes, “it might be an all-year-long kind of thing, anyways, if he’s concentrated on Miles then maybe he won’t bother with any of the mermaids, which is good, we don’t want him mating with any them. Or…” his face goes sour. “Alchemax might actually get what they want if they find out this is mating behavior.”

“Don’t you think Miguel’s smart enough to realize he shouldn’t mate with a mermaid? We don’t even know if it’s possible,” Gwen says. “Besides, Peter suggested sirens might be monogamous based on how he treats Miles and everyone else,” she continues, index finger in the air, “if that's true then maybe Miguel won’t bother with the mermaids at all. I’m scared he’s going to kill them instead.”

“I wish we didn’t have Alchemax breathing down our necks about this, then maybe we could do research in a safe environment for him,” Miles glare whispers.

”I think we should go off of Peter’s theory,” Gwen sighs. “That sirens are monogamous, I mean, we’ve already observed those tendencies in Miguel, that's legitimate proof of it I think. We can use that to our advantage.”

Miles frowns. Something about using that to their advantage doesn’t feel right. Gwen notices his discomfort.

”Listen, if he’s concentrating on you the chances of him mating with a mermaid will be lower, maybe…hopefully,” Gwen says in a lower tone so the surveillance doesn’t pick it up. “Win for us, lose for Alchemax.”

”What are you suggesting exactly?” Miles whispers back, fairly apprehensive.

Gwen’s hand lands on Miles' shoulder and it is like an anvil. “You gotta fuck a siren, Miles.”

”WHAT?”

Gwen doubles over with laughter. “Your face…it’s priceless.”

”Knowing your ass you might be serious…” Miles grimaces, annoyed.

“Sorry, I just couldn’t pass up the opportunity.”

”Focus guys, focus.” Pavitr claps his hands once. “I can’t believe I’m the one being serious right now.”

”I’m serious too!” Gwen counters. “Just trying to lighten the mood, geez.”

”Well, Miles, you know Miguel the best,” Pavitr says, turning to him, “What do you think is the best course of action?”

Miles is silent for a bit, staring at his feet in concentration. ”I think teaching him how to communicate with us is the best course of action honestly. It might draw more attention to him but if he can understand us and vice versa, it will make things easier for him and us.” He looks toward the tranquil waters, no siren in sight but he hopes Miguel is relaxing in his hide. “We continue socializing him too, get him used to more people, even things in his tank, maybe even touch and keep him away from mermaids.”

“So very true.” Gwen nods. “You know what will help with his English lessons? Children's learning books. They’ll give him visuals too, then we'll be able to see if he can actually understand what he’s mimicking.”

”I was thinking the same.” Miles nods.

”Great minds think alike.”

After running the details over with Peter, who agrees to all of it, Miles ventures to his local bookstore after his shift. He moves with anticipation, extremely curious to find out just how fast and vast Miguel’s learning abilities go. He wouldn't be surprised if they were on par with humans.

The doorbell chimes upon arrival, and Miles inhales the strong scent of freshly brewed coffee and books, bringing with it a sense of nostalgia. He hasn't been in a bookstore in a long time, not since his college days. The atmosphere is tranquil as he makes his way through vast rows of books, memories of all-nighters, and last-minute cram tests invading his mind.

It does feel a little odd walking to the children's section though, and he even manages a nervous smile to a mother and child who mirror his kindly. He imagines he must look very young to her, and wishes he could explain that he’s not here due to a child of his own, but because of an extremely large apex predator who can learn to speak.

Yeah…on second thought, maybe a child is easier to explain.

Pushing aside the slight twinge of embarrassment, he begins his search through books and titles. Might as well start with the basics, right? He sifts through a couple of pages and frowns, realizing that many of the words and pictures included will never truly be understood by Miguel, things like bikes and parks, bridges and barns. He needs something closer to home. He finds a second learning book that's more in tune with Miguel’s daily life, sifts through oceanic titles for a good minute or two, and snorts when he notices just how many of these are about sharks. He wonders if Miguel will appreciate the craft of turning a large, dangerous predator into a cute, google-eyed cartoon animal.

Knowing Miguel, he will tear the book apart.

Miles decides to skip over the shark books and focuses on ones with an array of oceanic creatures. One book in particular catches Miles' interest; it contains the perfect mixture of sea life and human life, with detailed illustrations and color. Next, he tries to find a book with basic English words to help Miguel with fundamental sentences, things like ‘I am-‘, ‘you are’, ‘I want-‘, and so on and so forth. Finally, with a growing stack in his arms, he picks a set of flashcards and counting books that complement everything nicely.

Before he steps away, however, Miles stumbles across a particular children's illustration book that brings back a wave of nostalgia: Dr. Seuss’ ‘One Fish Two Fish Red Fish Blue Fish.’

Miles distinctly remembers reading this book religiously as a child, owning multiple copies because he’d take his everywhere and unknowingly get it torn or soiled. It’s one of Miles' favorite books, if not his favorite book, solely because it opened the doors to sea creatures in his life. He smiles fondly at the crips pages and flips through a couple. He wants Miguel to experience this too. Is that odd of him? To want to share that intimacy with him?

Even though this book is a little too advanced for Miguel at the moment, he decides to add it to the stack, maybe the siren can come to understand it with time. Satisfied, Miles buys multiple copies of each material (because he knows Miguel will shred some) and heads home for the night. Once home, over a steaming plate of enchiladas, he prepares a type of syllabus for Miguel and himself, mainly for himself since this is the first time he’ll be teaching anyone the basics of English.

No pressure.

Despite everything, Miles is practically buzzing with anticipation and energy. He can’t fall asleep that night, and lays in the pitch darkness of his room, wondering what Miguel is doing or thinking of at the moment. Maybe he’s asleep, or maybe he’s still circling his tank in attentiveness. Miles hopes it’s the former.

”I got something for you, Miguel,” Miles beams after the siren finished his breakfast, hiding the bag of books behind him. Miguel blinks up at him, spreads his arms wide as if in a yawn, and looks at the plastic bag Miles brings forward. Miguel frowns and inches closer, intrigued, coming up to lean his elbows on the ledges. Miles bites his lip in excitement. He’s alone in the enclosure save for Peter in the far corner, observing the entire interaction as a pair of second eyes.

They all agreed that for Miguel's English lessons only two people should be in his enclosure at a time to help him focus. If they want him to truly grasp the language and concepts, he needs as little human disturbance as possible.

Miles takes out a book and Miguel tilts his head in a way that reminds Miles of an inquisitive puppy, those predatory eyes shining with a hint of curiosity. It’s a look Miles has grown exceptionally fond of.

”It’s a book!” He says, pointing at the cover as he sits down on the ledge right next to him, letting his feet dangle in the water, still amazed he’s able to sit this comfortably next to a beautiful siren. Miguel shifts near his space, moves between his legs, and leans in to sniff at the book in Miles’ hands, he tries taking it but is shut down by Miles who moves it away with a small shake of his head. Miguel pouts in annoyance but stays put, resting his strong hands beside Miles’ thighs. Miles tries to ignore the way his heart rate picks up because like this, Miguel could so easily grab him, prevent him from moving, or even hurt him if he wanted. He pushes the spike of adrenaline aside, calming his mind, not wanting Miguel to pick up on his troubling thoughts.

”Book,” Miles says, slower this time. “B-o-o-k.”

Miguel opens his mouth, those impressive fangs peeking past his dark lips, “Euk-euck.”

”Buh-buh,” Miles accentuates the first part, slowing down the B sounds with his lips, “Book.”

“Buh-“ Miguel frowns in concentration, poking the book with a clawed finger, “Buh-“

”There you go,” Miles encourages.

”Vuck.”

Miles’ smile goes soft, the corner of his eyes crinkling with genuine fondness. Miguel is trying his very hardest to pronounce it, and he’s proud of just that, even if it's not perfect. Miles points at himself, starting with the basics then. “Miles,” he says, pronouncing the vowels slowly. “Miles.”

Miguel points at Miles’s chest. “Mah-eels.”

He’s still having trouble pronouncing it.

”Miles.” Miles points at himself again. “M-i-l-e-s.”

”Mahils,” Miguel’s tongue moves intricately in his mouth, trying to get the hang of pronouncing an English name. “Miles.”

”You got it!” Miles beams, smoothening his hands across the siren’s cheeks and into his hair, drawing out a chuff of approval from him.

”Miles,” Miguel says again, leaning into his touch just a tad, moving as close to Miles as possible. “Miles.”

Miles points a finger at Miguel’s chest now. “Miguel,” he says, wondering if the siren knows his human-given name. Sure he’s heard that word directed at himself many times, but he isn’t sure if Miguel associated that with it being his name or something else, and he wants to make it clear to the siren. “Miguel.”

Miguel frowns again, tilting his head again and Miles’ insides turn to goo. “Mih-“ he can’t quite pronounce the g part, stumbling over his own tongue, making himself growl in annoyance. “Mihgheal.”

”Mi-gehl,” Miles repeats slower, elongating the g part. “Miguel.”

”Mi-ghel.”

”Good job!” Miles can’t help but run his hands through Miguel’s hair again, rubbing his sideburns and temple, the spot Miguel seems to like the most. “You are, Miguel.” He points at Miguel’s chest again.

Miguel tilts his head. “Yu-war Miguel.” He points at Miles, who chuckles, and with a small shake of his head, he directs Miguel’s finger to himself.

”You,” Miles points at Miguel, “are Miguel.” He points at Miguel’s chest again, then at himself. “I am, Miles.” He points at himself.

”Yuwar Miguel.” Miguel points at his own chest. “I-em Miles.” He points at Miles, blinking up like he hung the stars, and Miles looks down at him like he’s the sun. He nods approvingly, chest filling with warmth. He’s such a fast learner and Miles wants to protect Miguel from the world. 

“Water,” Miles says next, pointing below Miguel, who turns his head and looks down, looking back up at Miles with questioning eyes. Miles gets up, mourning the loss of their closeness, and kneels on on his tummy and touches the water. “Waa-ter.”

“Waa-“ Miguel tries the word with his whole mouth, opening it wide, “waer.”

”Waa-ter,” Miles repeats, touching the water and suddenly there's fingers interlocking with his own and a blush creeping up his face when Miguel brushes their noses together. “Water…“

”Miles,” Miguel says lowly, his new favorite word, his eyelashes hanging low on his cheekbones. “Miles.”

Miles stares into intimate velvet eyes, heart pounding. “Miguel…”

“Didn’t know making out with Miguel is part of the lesson, Miles,” a teasing voice comes from behind him and he scrambles into a sitting position. Miles can feel the growl Miguel lets out through his chest cavity as Peter walks over to them.

”Not making out,” Miles shoots back, shaking his head, “I was teaching him how to say water.”

”Right.” Peter smiles, amused. “He’s a fast learner, ain’t he? An even faster flirt too.”

”Yeah, well—uh—he learned his name pretty fast.”

”What about my name,” Peter beams, pointing at himself, making Miguel hiss and slap the water with his flukes. “Can you say Peter?”

Miguel brings down the weight of his tail once more with a sharp snap, the crinkle between the bridge of his nose extenuating, irritated by the mere sight of Peter.

”What did I do?” Peter pouts.

”Miguel doesn’t like you for some reason.” Miles jokes, hands on his hips, “I don’t think it’s personal, I just think he might see you as—“

”Competition?”

Miles frowns. “An inconvenience.”

Peter feigns chest pain, clutching his shirt. “Ow, that somehow hurt even more, I love you, Migs.”

The siren smacks his tail against the water again, growling. “You’re distracting him.” Miles ushers Peter away by the back, pushing him off to the side. “You’re disturbing his first lessons, go back to your corner.”

”But it’s lonely over there…”

The day continues much like that, with Miles teaching Miguel more words and even some rudimentary sentences. Miguel behaves so well throughout all of it, trying his hardest to learn everything presented to him. Miles is so proud, so happy, and elated that he gives the siren extra fish as a reward. Despite the tension in the air, and the pressure of next week's changes, everything feels right in this moment.

On the third day of his lessons, Miguel does something peculiar, a small little thing that really doesn't stand out in the grand scheme of things, but to Miles, it means something. He takes notice of it because it’s the first time he’s done something like that.

”He pressed his fingers to my neck,” Miles recounts with a frown of recollection, sitting at Gwen’s dinner table for an after-work meal. They’re all there—Peter, Gwen, Pav, and Peni—-all interested in Miguel’s English lessons and his socializing progress. “He’s never done that before,” He continues, remembering the feather-like touch, almost like it wasn't there, “It was like he was searching for something, but I don’t know what. He seemed frustrated he couldn’t find it, whatever it is,” he finishes, taking a bite of his mac and cheese.

”Your neck?” Peni repeats, deep in thought.

”Maybe you had something on your neck?” Gwen supplies, dipping her chicken tenders in honey mustard sauce.

”That couldn’t have been it, at least I don’t think so.” Miles shook his head, conflicted.

”I’m sure we’ll figure it out eventually,” Peter says, cutting up his stake into bite-sized portions, “how's the English lessons coming along?”

”He’s an incredibly fast learner,” Miles beams like a proud schoolteacher. “Of course, it’s only been a couple of days but he already has a good grasp on a lot of words. He’s still having issues pronouncing certain vowels, but with the way he’s learning he’ll get it in no time. It’s incredible, really.”

“I’ll say. I still find it so shocking that Miguel can learn to speak,” Pavitr agrees, taking a drink of his tea, “I wonder if he has any use for it in the wild, or if he just developed it purely out of necessity to communicate with you, like, he wants to bridge the gap somehow.”

The gap, Miles thinks, sitting back, his own fork and steak floating near his parted lips. “I don’t know.”

”That's a really good question,” Peter says, taking a swig of his own drink. “Is Miguel good at learning English because he uses similar ways of communication in the depths of the ocean? Or is he good at developing phonetic skills because he’s around us?”

Miles doesn’t really know, of course he’s thought about it thousands of times, but there's no way of knowing since Miguel has never made sounds outside of grunts and growls before learning words. It’s really hard to tell with the limited information they have, and something like this is only ever truly discovered by observing sirens in the wild, an almost impossible task if they live in the depths they’re assumed to inhabit.

“Miguel will tell us when he’s ready,” Miles assures. “When he learns to communicate with us, he’ll tell us, I’m sure.”

”I’m still curious about his bioluminescent markings you mentioned, Miles,” Gwen says, pointing her chicken tender at Miles’ face. “I want to see them.”

Miles smiles cheekily. “Thing is, I don’t know if he’ll show them with you guys around.”

Gwen rolls her eyes good-naturedly. “Oh, how coy of him. So it’s only reserved for special people like you? What a hopeless romantic.”

“It makes sense doesn't it?” Peni says, chuckling, “if our hypothesis is correct and Miguel’s bioluminescence is meant for attracting mates, then of course he’s only going to show them to Miles.”

Miles chokes on his drink, earning a couple of elbows and sly smiles from Gwen and Pavitr. “It’s instinctual,” he chides.

“How’d you manage to rizz up a whole ass siren but not a real person, Miles?” Gwen jokes.

”What can I say? Siren’s are more interesting.” He shrugs, smirking.

”Maybe that speaks more about your character,” Gwen jabs, snorting.

”I have an idea,” Peter begins, throwing his index finger up in the air like he’s ready to unveil an extraordinary invention.

”Oh-uh,” Miles sighs with a smile. “This should be good.”

”It’s a simple idea really, might not work depending on how good Miguel’s ability to see us in the dark is, but we should sneak in there at night. We,” He motions between himself, Pavitr, Peni, and Gwen, “watch from the base level of his enclosure while you,” he points at Miles, “interact with him at the top level. We’ll use the walkie-talkies to communicate if we have to.” Peter eyes Miles with a smile, eager to have him match his energy. “When you get him to the surface, we’ll move in,” he finishes, making sneaking motions with his hands. “And boom, bioluminescence activates.”

”Doesn’t sound like a bad idea,” Miles admits, swaying his head from side to side. “Could work if Miguel’s in the mood.”

Gwen wiggles her eyebrows. “In the mood for what exactly?” She elbows her best friend mischievously, and Miles draws back with a frown.

”Quit.” He pouts.

The blonde shrugs her shoulders. “Don’t be surprised if Miguel’s sexual frustration gets the better of him.”

”He’s not sexually frustrated.”

”We don’t know that.”

Miles grumbles, looking away, thankful that nobody will be able to tell the molten lava traveling down his belly. What Gwen is suggesting is just…of course Miles has thought about it, how could he not? But doing that is out of the question…he’s read how it goes for some biologists in the past, how they give a ‘helping hand’ so to speak, to their wildlife, but Miles isn’t sure he can do something like that to Miguel. It feels…wrong. A forbidden line into dangerous territory that, once crossed, can never be reverted. An invasion of privacy and taking advantage of baser instincts.

And worst of all, down in the deepest, most darkest recess of Miles’ subconscious, where he’s never allowed himself to linger for more than a second, a note of craving. He knows. Miles knows that if he crosses that line with Miguel it will change him too, for better or worse, a desire he won’t be able to control. He’s not ready to face that part of him, to admit to everything that's scared him. The guilt and disgust are far too prevalent to face the fact that, deep down, he might be attracted to Miguel in more ways than one.

He noticed it back when the first feeding incident occurred, when Miguel refused to let anyone else feed him. Miles was elated by it, happy, dangerously excited, and the reality of it came crashing down on him. It’s wrong , he thinks. So Miles, stupid Miles, shoots himself in the foot by giving the reins to someone else because he is too distraught over his blooming feelings of attraction and possessiveness. He instructs his team to feed Miguel instead, convincing himself that it’s the best way to wean Miguel off his attention, when in reality he was doing it for the both of them. He slaps his own face when he dares to feel a hint of jealousy when they comply.

How ridiculous. Jealousy? Over someone else feeding Miguel? Miles berated himself heavily that night, but then Miguel wouldn’t let up, stopped eating and Peter suggested that Miguel only wanted him and yes , his body sang, yes, he wants me too! The realization came crashing down on him again like a rockslide, the guilt and horror of it all churning his stomach to the point he couldn’t eat either.

Being around Miguel is dangerous.

Being alone with him is even worse.

It’s after hours when Miles, Peter, Gwen Peni, and Pavitr enter the sanctuary, their plan set out before them as they traverse through dimly lit corridors to Miguel’s enclosure. Miles is beside himself, rubbing his knuckles in small attempts to steady his nerves. Honestly, he’s utterly anxious, not because Miguel might not perform, but because of what’s been brewing in his mind, Gwen’s words stirring the pot.

Despite his hardest to keep the thoughts at bay, Miles can’t help but recount the words over and over again. ’Sexual aggression.’ ‘He wants us gone so he can have his way with you.’ ‘Don’t be surprised if Miguel’s sexual frustration gets the better of him.’ 

And what if she’s right? What if Miguel is sexually frustrated? What if the siren reacts in a way Miles isn’t expecting and he doesn’t know what to do? It’s only reasonable to think that if those markings are for mates, then…then Miguel might—

“Miles, earth to Miles! Did you hear me?” Peter says, placing a hand on Miles’ shoulder, who all but jumps.

”What—yeah, totally.”

Peter grins. “What did I say?”

”Uh…that I’m your most favorite pupil?” Miles winces out a smile, making Peter deadpan.

“Close,” the man snorts, handing Miles a sleek, black walkie-talkie, “when you’re up there, tell us when you have Miguel’s attention. Our visibility from below is going to be really limited since it's nearly pitch black down here, so we’re really only going to be able to see him glow if he shows us his markings. We’re going to be waiting by the ground-level entrance for your signal. Don’t forget.” He pats Miles’ shoulder, sending him off.

“I won’t forget.” Miles nods.

”Go get ‘em, tiger.” Peter winks, making the younger make a face. Something drops in the pit of his stomach, not fear, not disgust. Anticipation, the kind that confuses him.

Why did his team have to tease him about it? It makes things stand out in his mind, it makes it all that much more awkward. Miles has never had to deal with this facet of marine biology before. Sure ,he’s been around mermaids and other wildlife during breeding seasons, some even breed all year long, but most show little sign or display of interest. It all felt clinical and controlled. Everything with Miguel feels dangerous and wild, an underlying veil of tension that's so ridiculous because Miguel is, well, a siren, a whole different species from him. But the anticipation and pressure is building up in his chest like a bride on her wedding night.

Miles swallows. Entering Miguel’s enclosure at night feels like a sin, and he’s quiet without needing to be, standing there for a couple of stupefied seconds like he’s on sacred grounds that shouldn’t be disturbed. He keeps quiet in the dark for a bit longer, allowing his eyes to adjust and his mind to calm down. He takes a shuddering breath and steps closer to the water's edge, unable to see even past the water's surface.

Calm down, Miles , he tells himself, closing his eyes. In and out.

”Miguel,” he calls out, hearing his own voice echo in the hollow space. The contrast of atmosphere in the daytime to nighttime is interesting despite it being the same place, it feels eerie somehow, lonelier. He calls out to the siren a couple more times until a shift in the water catches his attention and a familiar pair of velvet eyes peek out. It’s so dark they’re almost solid black.

There you are , Miles thinks, smiling despite himself, paging Peter and the rest that Miguel is on the surface. Miguel slithers near the edge but not quite close enough to reach, elegant as he moves toward Miles who sits at the very edge.

”Miles,” Miguel greets and Miles sucks in a breath, still not used to hearing his name passed those plush lips.

”Miguel, come here,” Miles beckons, reaching out with his hand, a conflicted arch on his brow when Miguel doesn’t move. The previous night's visit had Miguel glowing almost instantly, this time, the siren watches him with a calculative stare. What are you thinking? Miles wonders.

Miguel tilts his head almost playfully, a dark curl falling between deep-set eyes that make Miles short of breath. He doesn’t really know why Miguel has this effect on him, but he finds his own eyelids lowering and his heart racing.

”Miles, come,” Miguel says, patting the water like he’s seen Miles do, “water.”

Miles' eyes widen slightly at that almost perfect pronunciation, shocked by how much the siren has improved. Has Miguel been practicing while he wasn’t looking?

”Miles, come, water,” Miguel repeats, getting closer.

”I can’t,” Miles says with a shake of his head, despite having his wetsuit on, Miguel’s tank water is extremely cold and if he got in like this, he wouldn’t last long in there. “Can you show me your markings again?” He’s pretty sure Miguel doesn’t understand what he just said, and it’s evident in the frown the siren makes, obviously trying to understand his words.

”Markings,” Miles repeats, patting his own face with the tips of his fingers.

”Ma-rkeh-ins,” Miguel repeats with some trouble, that frown deepening, accentuating his handsome features. “Water, come.”

Miles' shoulders drop, smiling. He’s so cute.

”Miles,” Peter says from the walkie-talkie, making him jump, and Miguel growl, “everything okay up there? Copy.”

Miles heaves a small sigh. “He’s not showing me his bioluminescent markings even though I’m up here, I’m not sure why he’s being distant.”

“Sorry, couldn't quite understand what you said, I didn’t hear a ‘copy’. Copy.”

Miles rolls his eyes, imagining Peter with a shit-eating grin. “I’m taking the batteries out.”

“Wait—just kidding! Don’t do that.”

“Then be serious.”

”Okay okay, so maybe he’s having some performance issues?” Peter says with a smirk. “What did you do last time?”

”Nothing. I just sat here.” He isn’t about to spill the beans on how emotionally vulnerable he was last time.

”Hmmm, maybe he’s not in the mood.”

Miles' lips form into a thin line. He really shouldn’t do this. “I got an idea, sit tight.” He stands, heaving a sigh as Miguel looks up at him expectantly. “I really shouldn’t do this,” he tells himself once more as he makes his way toward the shallow end reserved for Miguel’s checkups. Maybe, just maybe, if he gets in the water with him it might spur him along. Maybe. Still, something in the back of Miles' mind urges him not to do this, and something even deeper craves for it. He swallows, pushes forward until he’s setting foot in the shallow end with Miguel tailing his every move like a shadow, extremely intrigued.

I’m pushing the boundaries . Miles stares at Miguel. Am I really doing this? He thinks, kneading his lips before stepping in further, hissing at how cold the water is. If he wants to pull this off, he will have to be quick. Entering the deeper parts of the shallow end, he trudges to the right side, the water isn’t the deepest here thankfully, and he sits on the ledge as the water meets his abdomen. He takes a steadying breath, trying to adjust to the cold temperatures, just as Miguel nears him, bracing himself by planting both hands on either side of Miles’ hips, bracketing him in, their noses almost touching.

Miles swallows, steadying himself, personal space all but forgotten. They’re not touching, not yet, but it feels like there's no space between them.

Here, Miguel’s intense stare and natural pull are harder to ignore, like the magnetic field of a planet and Miles is a simple asteroid in Miguel’s rings. He swallows a shuddering breath when the siren dips his face into the crock of Miles' neck without preamble, tracing his pulse point all the way down his clavicle and back up, as if in search of something. He does this multiple times, growing frustrated, pushing himself closer to Miles, pushing between his legs, thighs spreading wide to accommodate Miguel’s size. Miles stays as he is, trying not to read too much into this. Miguel is a siren, this type of behavior, albeit new, doesn’t have to be anything more than harmless curiosity—

He squeaks when Miguel licks his skin, a smooth tongue running up his inner throat. Miguel is between his spread legs, his body large, like the trunk of a sequoia tree, imposing, all-encompassing. And he’s licking his throat like he’s made of candy.

”M-Miguel,” Miles croaks, trying to back away only for Miguel to follow with a snarl of disapproval and a hold on his arm.

”Miles,” Miguel says against his skin, and Miles shudders, shutting his eyes, bracing himself and leaning back slightly, holding on to Miguel’s triceps for support. He wonders if the siren knows the effect his voice has on a person, how the low timber vibrates through his entire body leaving him feeling like jello. Never in his 23 years of life has a voice caused a full-body shudder, and here Miguel is, able to do it without even knowing proper English. This is a bad idea, a voice screams at Miles’ subconsciousness, he shouldn’t have entered the water because now he doesn’t know what he’s doing, his mind is a little irrational and cloudy with something Miles isn’t willing to admit just yet.

He wants Miguel to—

He wants him to—

Miguel draws back, allowing Miles some oxygen, and he gasps like he’s been underwater. The siren is frowning deeply, like Miles is a puzzle he can’t figure out. He wonders what's going through his mind.

“What’s wrong?” Miles asks, his voice slightly hoarse, eyes glazed over. Miguel doesn’t respond, maybe doesn’t know how to or isn’t willing to as he reaches out and touches Miles’ throat with the pads of his fingers. “My neck?” Miles wonders, unsure what the siren means. What’s this strange fixation with my neck? It’s just like the first time Miguel touched it, and this time Miles is sure the siren is searching for something in particular.

Miguel touches Miles' pulse again, snorts with a shake of his head when he doesn't find what he’s looking for. He takes Miles’ hand and brings it to his own neck, specifically, his gills. The effect is instantaneous, Miguel’s entire body shivers and he gives a pleased groan, body alights with bioluminescent markings. His markings spark to life as he closes his eyes with something like an approving chuff against Miles' ear and Miles freezes, eyes wide, taking a shuddering breath, in a trance as he rubs feather-like touches against Miguel’s gills, making the siren groan out deeply, seeking more contact by nuzzling his face into brown skin. Miles goes taunt, stunned by the heady reaction.

An erogenous zone? Miles thinks, face going hot. “Gills?” He says. “Is that what you were looking for? If I had gills?”

Miguel leans into Miles’ neck again as confirmation, his nose and lip brushing up against his pulse point and there's no question about it now, Miguel is trying to stimulate him, just like his own fingers had stimulated his neck. Miles groans, letting Miguel nuzzle his face further into his neck, making his lower regions burn with something hot. The glaring question in his mind now is should he let this continue? This went way beyond his original plan, which was to simply get in the water and see if that was enough to spur Miguel on, which it had, immensely. Too intensely in fact. 

Miles knew getting in with him was a gamble, just like it had been the first time, but he didn’t think the stakes were this high, especially his own lack of self-restraint at the moment. It’s concerning how much he wants it, how Miles doesn’t want to leave. Peter and the entire team are two floors down, huddled together waiting and watching, the adrenaline kicks in and shame mixes in with desire, all amped up by the way Miguel explores the smooth column of his neck with tongue and teeth, their bodies practically plastered against each other.

It’s unfair how much this is affecting Miles.

This doesn’t have to be weird. It doesn’t have to go beyond scientific studies, Miles tells himself. What Miguel is doing right now is driven out of instinct, not romantic interest. His actions might not even be sexual in nature, and Miles should definitely stop reading too much into it. He will not succumb to his own human desires. He will not.

”I don’t have gills, Miguel,” Miles breathes, steadying himself, trying to push Miguel away whose heavy-lidded eyes meet his. Sharp, salacious, foggy look with a pinch of frustration. It’s ruining Miles, and he bites his lips to keep from doing something stupid. “No gills,” he repeats.

Miguel doesn't respond, doesn't even try as he nudges their noses together, their lips almost brushing. ”No gills,” Miles repeats like a plea, closing his eyes as if…as if Miguel might kiss him, but nothing ever comes. Of course, Miguel is a siren, he doesn’t even know what a kiss is. Still, Miles doesn’t move, doesn’t even breathe as Miguel tips them over. At once, Miles is on his back, toppled over by the siren’s weight all but bowling him over, making him lean back on his elbows. The water is to Miles' neck now, and he gasps, chilling him to the bone and yet it’s still not enough to put out the flame in his chest and lower body. 

Miles struggles to get up as Miguel burrows his nose into his neck again, keeping him pinned under him, sticking his tongue and licking his pulse point as if to magically sprout some gills. Miles quickly reins his nerves, breath quickening as he adjusts to their new position and, oh God —Miles’ breath hitches and his heart skips a beat.

He feels it on his inner thighs first, a thick weight, strangely warm, the tip of something poking his lower regions with intent. Miles wants to wail, scream, and thrash around, instead, he gulps a heap of air and spreads his traitorous legs wider.

He can’t. 

He can’t do this.

Miguel…Miguel doesn’t understand what he’s doing… who he’s trying to do it with. It isn’t right.

”Miguel, stop,” Miles squeaks out, and it's a weak command even to his ears. He tries nudging his bulky frame away and it works, slightly, as Miguel leans back with his hands planted on either side of Miles’ head, catching the marine biologist off guard, who flails with the sudden shift and clamps his hands around Miguel’s neck for support.

Somehow this new position makes things ten times worse. Miguel is looking at him, those hot pools of red melting his insides, and Miles makes the mistake of looking between them, down toward their lower regions where he finally sees them, the evidence of Miguel’s arousal. Two large claspers, engorged and jutting out of the slit near his abdomen.

I want to touch , is Miles’ first thought, immediately scolding himself. Miguel is hardly self-conscious about it, angling his body so that Miles can get a better view, almost like he wants him to see all of him. Those things are monsters, and even though they resemble claspers at first glance, Miles notices how different they are. Their size is incomparable to when Miles first saw them on the examination table. They were more like flaccid tentacles back then, now, fully filled out, they are like two extra limbs, and the sight makes Miles gulp with curiosity, his inquisitive nature getting the better of him as he stares in fascination.

“You’re…” he can’t form words right now. Turned on.

Large and engorged, Miguel’s cocks are dark blue at the base like the underside of his belly, fading to a lighter gray, almost pink at the tips, though that could be the glow of the siren’s skin messing with Miles’ eyes. They are twitching, seeking, and Miles notes with feverish interest that they are semi-prehensile. Miguel can move them individually and even curl them a bit. It’s like nothing he’s never seen before and Miles takes a moment to let it all sink in, his own lips shuddering at the sight.

”Fuck,” Miles sucks in a breath between blood-drawing teeth, “Fuck, fuck, fuck, I’m so fucked.”

He reaches out, chest cavity burning as if on a single breath, and slowly touches an arrow-headed tip with the tips of his fingers. Miguel’s entire body jolts at the touch, muscles flexing as he croons above Miles, who gasps when he rubs his fingers against a slimy substance, almost like slick. The film coats the heads of Miguel’s cocks like a barrier and Miles realizes it’s a type of self-lubricant?

Holy shit , holy shit, holy shit , he blinks, half stunned, half aroused. Self-lubricating dicks is a first for Miles, but it makes so much sense and it makes him even more hungry to explore, as if in a trance. He squeezes the tip down toward the engorged middle where it’s the thickest and he’s unable to wrap his entire hand around it, feeling all the grooves and ridges on the underside of his dick. Miguel edges himself and Miles gulps. Runs his hands back up the tapered tip and down, making Miguel chuff in approval, hiding his face against Miles' temple.

“You’re huge,” he notes, speechless, and gasps when he feels Miguel buck into the touch with a growl, the tip hitting home and finding exactly where it needs to go, between Miles' legs. How does he know exactly where to go? In that instant, the walkie-talkie beams to life and Peter’s voice cuts through their heavy breathing and exploration with a curious jab. Reality hits Miles across the face like a punch to the gut, and he scrambles for what to do, instantly losing his libido.

Miguel wants to mate with him, and by the soaked and hot feeling between his own legs, so does Miles’ body apparently. But he can’t. He absolutely can not for a million and one reasons, and—and the most shocking revelation Miles is having is that it’s not due to his own morality but because his team is a few floors down. Not because Miguel is an entirely different species from him.

”I’m so fucked,” Miles sucks in a breath through his teeth, jumping when both of Miguel’s claspers try nudging their way inside his wet suit, trying desperately to find an opening that isn’t sealed away. Miles isn’t sure whether he’s thankful for the wetsuit design or not at the moment. He breathes. Recollects himself and with a heavy heart pulls away before Miguel has a chance to react. He doesn’t know how this will affect Miguel or their relationship in the long run, hopes he doesn't think he’s rejecting him.

Miles wishes he could explain all of the nuances of his retreat to Miguel, why he’s unable to reciprocate his courting and intentions. Their language barrier is still so expansive, all Miguel will know is that Miles is leaving him and that makes him sad. He doesn’t want to see Miguel sad or angry, but they’ve swum themselves into a corner without an outlet. Maybe if there were no eyes on them or Miles’ ever-present guilt and morality, maybe in a perfect world he would open up and reciprocate Miguel's advances.

That perfect world does not exist.

“I’m sorry, Miguel,” Miles apologizes as a conflicting emotion twists the siren’s features, brows creasing in confusion as Miles moves away. Miguel tries following, stopped by the loss of water, and looks up at Miles with an expression he’s never seen before, something desperate, almost hurting. Miles aches, sees just how affected this is for the siren and almost stumbles just as the door to the enclosure opens.

”Miles,” someone says from behind him, he thinks it might be Gwen but he’s not really paying attention as he stands and watches Miguel sink back into the depths of his tank, taking with him the glow of his skin. 

”Wow,” Peter says, “he was glowing like a star.”

Miles is fucked.

Chapter Text

Nothing will be the same ever again.

“Everyone!’ Peter claps his hands to get their attention. His hands are clammy, Miles can tell by the sound they make and he knows Peter is just as nervous as he is. “I’d like to introduce Alchemax’s research team to our sanctuary.”

Miles sighs, dreading this exact moment. He spent most of his time wishing it would never come, though wishing did little to stop the forces of Alchemax. Before him stands 4 strangers, all equally sanitized and dead-eyed.

The tension in the air is loaded like a pistol.

”This research team is led by Dr. Burough Damian, one of Alchemax's lead scientists, who will be working closely with us and 2099 in this project. All data and research will go through him as well so please keep that in mind,” Peter continues, impressively on script, “make sure to send those reports to him, and treat them kindly.”

Kindly, huh ? There’s nothing ‘kind’ in those eyes of Damian, Miles notes. He regards them with calculative, almost judgemental beads of black, reminding Miles of a machine, lacking any emotion. His alarm bells go off like sirens, hackles rising as Damian steps before them, the heels of his shoes clacking like spikes.

“Your cooperation and diligent work will be crucial to this project,” Damian begins, his voice deceitfully soothing, making Miles frown. The juxtaposition is jarring. “I expect nothing less than perfection from this union.”

Perfection? Union? Are they getting married or something? Miles wants to roll his eyes.

Damian directs his cold gaze at him. “Please remember this isn’t some game, our research can change the course of the future, all time should not be wasted.”

He’s speaking like he’s in a room full of children, and Miles wants nothing more than to smack his lips. They know exactly what this vile project entails, they're not stupid, but Miles guesses the man has to stay true to his pretentious persona.

Damian’s team introduces themselves one by one with a short greeting—Jennifer, Thomas, Mikael—and then it’s Miles’ turn to introduce himself, along with the rest of the team. Immediately after, Damian demands to see Miguel with a tap of his finger on the wooden table.

”Please show me 2099’s enclosure.”

”Well, let's see if Miguel is up for a visit then.” Peter attempts to draw out a smile from Damian who ignores it completely.

”You’ve given the siren a pet name?” He frowns as they make their way toward Miguel, grating Miles’ nerves.

It’s not a pet name, Miles wants to punch back.

”Specimen-2099 doesn't roll off the tongue like Miguel does,” Miles butts in, pushing back the sarcasm from his tone, earning a side-eye glance from Damian, “besides, Miguel deserves a special and unique name, just like all of our rescues in the sanctuary.”

Damian scoffs. “You give all of them names?”

Miles’ fist shakes, muscles tense, he can already tell he’s going to hate this man. And Miguel? Miguel will absolutely loathe him. Damian is an imposing presence, and not in a good way. He stands tall, pridefully so, with a face set in stern lines and wearing aloofness like a piece of armor.

Miles mentally shakes off the uneasiness for now, instead, he focuses on Miguel and his well-being. After the whole ‘rejection’ incident, he didn’t know how Miguel would react the next time they interacted, quite frankly, Miles didn't know how to react either. Surprisingly, Miguel greeted Miles normally the next day, acting as usual for a sassy siren like him. He didn’t act cold or distant, like Miles feared, and didn’t even look remotely affected by the night before either. It was a huge relief to Miles who feared the worst. It did make him wonder how much of it Miguel understood though.

Did he understand the intimacy of their acts? How taboo they were and the complexity of the rejection? Or does this prove how instinctual the need to reproduce is in sirens and how trivial the partner is?

Not enough information to tell , Miles thinks, a little crestfallen.

Either way, Miguel is okay and that's all that matters. Except, now they have a new issue on their hands, and Miles doesn’t think Miguel will react kindly to this one.

They reach the enclosure and Peter hands the research team their own ID badges, a special type of badge that gives access to Miguel’s tank and nothing else. Damian makes a comment on it, and Miles attempts to not let it bother him. They enter the enclosure and for once, Miles is thankful for Miguel’s penchant of staying at the bottom. He wouldn’t want to see the way his face sours at the sight of four strangers entering his domain, much less a certain unfriendly one who looks disgusted with the place.

”Where is specimen-2099?” Damian asks, a hair away from demanding, brows drawn, walking towards the edge.

Still calling him specimen-2099? Miles grumbles internally. ”Don’t get too close to the edge, Miguel likes to pounce sometimes.”

“Pounce?”

”He’ll sneak up on you and pull you in the water if you’re not careful, take you to his castle like a princess,” Peter laughs, trying to lighten the mood. Nobody laughs. Miles internally winces.

”Is that something he’s done before?” Damian wears his disapproval like a medal, edging closer to the waters despite the warning, challenging Miguel to pull him under, and Miles almost wants to see it. Almost.

“No,” Miles says. “But we don’t want to test it. He’ll splash water on you though.”

Damian’s lips curl down. The air is packed with tension and something off-kilter, something has been off the moment Miles stepped inside the building but now, it’s unmistakable and he knows Miguel won’t like it.

”Call it,” Damien demands, it’s not a request anymore as he turns to Miles and snaps his fingers. “Are you in the world of the living, Morales? I said, call it.”

”I mean, he’s not some dog, we can’t just call Miguel, he comes up when he wants.”

”When he wants?” The man looks personally offended. “How incompetent is this team?”

”Wow,” Gwen warns. “What’s your problem?”

”Guys, listen,” Peter starts, trying to placate the rising tension. “We—“

“You know, I’ve heard the rumors,” Damian cuts in, looking every bit displeased as he sounds, “how the marine biologists at Alchemax Sanctuary are incredibly lenient and unprofessional.”

”Unprofessional?” Miles spits back.

“You don’t even have a command system set in place for the creature,” he snaps like a belt. “Have you been letting it do as it pleases? Like some free-range cattle? Rules and regulations are put in place to unite and maintain safety, it’s extremely negligent to not abide by them, don’t you agree? 

”We’ve maintained safety!” Gwen grits her teeth.

“Really? Because I’ve read reports stating otherwise, like how he dragged someone in the water with him. Blood draws done without a full team or sedation. The tank incident.”

Gwen blinks. “That tank incident wasn’t our fault! You can’t keep him sedated for too long without running risks!”

“Regardless, dangerous creatures like this require strict regulations and training,” Damian continues, grating like a saw. “A system it can adhere to lest it bites the hand that feeds it.”

”Miguel isn’t some animal you can train!” Miles counters. “It’s because of his higher intelligence that he doesn't need it.”

Damian openly scoffs. “Please, spare me the self-righteousness, even humans require training.”

Miles reels back.

”If it can learn then it can be trained,” Damian finishes.

”Not to sound insulting,” Peter steps in, a deep frown marring his features, “Miguel doesn’t abide by ‘regulations’ and ‘command systems’, and if you think he will, especially with your attitude, you’re going to be incredibly disappointed and frustrated.”

”That's not an issue really,” Damian replies and Miles’ fist clench. Does this asshole have a smart-ass reply for everything? “I expect the siren to disappoint me, in fact, I expect it to fight back tooth and nail against me. A wild horse cannot be broken easily, especially with the way your team has handled it, but it can be broken and tra—“

A wave of ice water hits Damian square on the back, pushing him forward, making him stumble with a hiss. Miles’ eyes widen, watching Miguel's imposing form near the water's edge. Damian whips around and locks eyes with him, carefully eyeing the predator as it stalks him from a distance. Miguel’s body is tense like he’s ready to pounce. Neither of them move, seizing each other up. It’s so quiet and tense, Miles is sure everyone can hear it, the guttural rumbling of Miguel’s warning bellows.

”Miles,” Miguel chuffs, though it comes out more of a growl.

Damian staggers back. “It can speak?”

”Miguel’s good at imitating human language,” Miles explains, walking up to the water's edge and kneeling down to offer Miguel a fish. “He understands some things. He’s still learning.”

”You’re teaching it human language.” Damian looks genuinely shocked, like he’s close to gasping. “Does the board know about this?”

”Not yet, we wait till the end of the month to send our reports.”

”I—Hm.” He stays quiet and Miles is thankful for that. It’s obvious Miguel surprised him, maybe even intimidated him a little and Miles can’t help the satisfaction that gives him, though Miguel doesn’t seem to care, all he cares about is keeping an eye on Damian, who watches him in turn.

”Fish,” Miguel says, looking straight at Damian. “Fish, food,” he repeats, his fangs pointing out, his dorsal spines standing tall.

Miles isn’t sure what Miguel is trying to convey. He’s completely ignoring the fish right in front of him in favor of glaring daggers at Damian. Maybe he wants to kill him.

You and me both , Miles thinks.

The man in question stares down at him with an unreadable expression, says, ”We will begin training him immediately, there is little time to waste. Morales.”

Miles flinches.

”Do not feed 2099 for the rest of the day, we need him hungry for his training. I will return after I’ve changed into proper attire.” With that, Damian and his team walk out of the enclosure, the door shutting loudly behind them and leaving an open space of awkwardness behind. Everyone breathes a heavy sigh once the coast is clear.

”What the actual fuck was that?” Gwen growls, the first to break the silence with a roll of her shoulders. “I’m exhausted just listening to that asshole.”

”He’s a bit much, isn’t he?” Peni chimes in, biting her fingernails.

”Not just ‘a bit much’, he’s horrible.” Miles scowls, crossing his arms, guilty glancing at Miguel who is waiting for his breakfast. “He’s talking and treating Miguel like he’s some kind of stupid animal, and he’s ordering us around like children.”

”This isn’t going to go smoothly is it?” Peter sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I tried talking to him the other day, Dr. Burough is really prickly, but I still wanted to make friends with him, you know? And…” Peter does a full-body shudder, “he’s just so…”

”Assholish,” Gwen finishes, to Peter’s dismay.

”Yeah, that.”

”I don’t think Miguel likes him either,” Pavitr adds, making them all turn toward the siren in question, who is glaring daggers at the door, his tail flukes flicking in and out of the water. “We better keep them apart.”

”How are we gonna do that? He wants to ‘train’ Miguel like a dog when he comes back,” Miles rolls his eyes, handing Miguel a fish with a ‘screw you’ towards Damien written all over it. “I hate this.”

”Okay, okay, I know this seems bad,” Peter starts and they all give him an are-you-kidding-me look, including Miguel, “okay, it's pretty bad, but we just have to adjust to the changes is all, just like we got Miguel adjusted to a new enclosure, we're going to undergo some training ourselves, it's only fair, right? So let's try and make the best of it?” He finishes with a strained smile. Nobody follows through or agrees though. They stand there before a string of halfhearted “fines” and “sures” ring out.

“Miles,” Miguel calls out, attempting to get as close to the edge as he can get, the tips of his fingers holding onto the ledge. Like this, Miles gets a good look at Miguel’s toned chest without meaning to, accentuated by the water surrounding him, and….damn, he looks good. Miles looks away in shame, flustered. Flashes of their close encounter appear in his mind. Miguel looks good , his brain supplies, heat climbing his face. Uncomfortable. Dangerous. The more he looks at Miguel the more he wants to run his hands across his chest and squeeze.

Wow okay, calm down dude, Miles shakes his head before lowering himself on his knees to get close to the siren. “What is it, Miguel?”

”Fish.” The siren frowns, pointing at the bucket. “Fish,” He repeats and points at his mouth, hungry fangs on full display, clearly agitated that he’s been reduced to begging for his food. Miles bites his lip, unsure. He knows he’s been instructed to not feed him, but he can’t just leave Miguel hungry like this, it isn't right. Especially since they worked so hard to get him to even eat in the first place. Now he’s supposed to deny him that?

”Fuck that,” Miles curses under his breath before getting the bucket and offering Miguel his breakfast. The siren tilts his head, looking at his extended hand curiously like he’s never seen it before. Miles raises a brow. Didn’t he want the fish? Now he’s acting like he never asked for it.

”Take it,” Miles urges, “before Mr. Grumpy Pants gets back.”

”I heard that,” Damian says from the door, frowning at Miles who almost drops the fish in surprise. He’s about to apologize, a knee-jerk reaction to being caught red-handed when the sensation of soft wet lips brush against his fingertips. He whips around and looks at Miguel, who is nudging his nose and face against his hand, licking the fish with his tongue, the tip grazing Miles’s fingers, before taking it in his mouth.

”I specifically instructed you not to feed it.” Damian glares down at him, curling his lip. Miguel bellows out a warning, the water around him rippling with the vibration, a low hiss between parted lips, fish all but forgotten. His spikes rise, tail slithering behind him like a snake as he snaps the fish in two with the pressure of his jaws.

Damian scoffs, amused but not at all fazed. “Nasty attitude. This is the type of behavior that needs to be corrected.”

”He doesn’t know you,” Miles sighs, retracting his hand, “if he’s defensive it’s because you’re a stranger.” And a major asshole.

“Then we have to quell this territorial behavior at once. What do you think will happen when we put a mermaid in the tank with him?”

Miles freezes.

”He’ll rip it to shreds. We can’t have that, not for the sake of this research. That being said, when I tell you to not feed it, I need you to not feed it.”

Miles hears a growl behind him and stands between Miguel and Damian as a buffer, scowling openly now. “I know you’re here to help with the research, but I still have my duties as a marine biologist and that includes making sure Miguel stays healthy, which means feeding him when he’s hungry.”

”I am not here to help , Mr. Morales,” Damian spits back, stepping forward, making Miguel hiss louder, “I’m here to deliver results to Alchemax in the most efficient way possible, and as it stands, you're getting in the way of that research. It doesn't need to eat until I authorize it.”

”His name is Miguel! Stop calling him ‘it’!” Miles snaps all of a sudden, blood boiling. “It’s Miguel!”

“Uh, Miles, why don’t we calm down?” Peter tries only to zip his mouth shut when he sees the warning glare in Miles’ eyes. 

Damian sighs. “Do you know as the head of the research and breeding project in Alchemax, the board has given me full power over Miguel’s biologist team?” Dr. Burough slices through Miles like a blade. “I can have you removed from this team by tomorrow Morales, don’t test me.”

Miles doesn’t waver, doesn't even lose his frown as a pinch of dread follows the poorly concealed threat, his stomach twists. There’s thrashing behind him, Miguel is going ballistic, and like a wip, his flukes crack the surface of the water like thunder.

”I suggest following orders from now on or I will have you removed from this project for hindering 2099’s progress,” Damien finishes.

”Fuck that guy!” Miles yells, kicking a random bucket in their lab room. “‘Hindering Miguel’s progress’ my ass, fuck you!”

”I want him gone already,” Gwen says, wracking her nails through her scalp.

“Who the fuck does he think he is! My mom doesn’t even talk to me like that—arghh!” Miles kicks the bucket once more for good measure. “I mean, he can’t have me removed right?” Miles twists to look at Peter for answers, who has a guilty look on his face.

”I mean…” Peter rubs his stubble.

”No, Pete,” Miles growls. “ No !”

”He can technically file a complaint or a suggestion to the board to get you removed, and if they agree with his suggestion…he might be able to do that.”

The poor abused bucket gets flung across the room once more.

”Fuck this shit!”

”Wow, kid, I’ve never seen you this angry.”

”He’s going to harm Miguel!” Miles all but shouts,  throwing his hand in the direction of Miguel’s enclosure. “Who cares about my job, we worked so hard to get Miguel to eat proper meals! We worked so hard to get him to trust us, to view us as positive things in his life, and now that prick wants to ruin that.”

”Not to mention the way he speaks about Miguel,” Peni adds, “like he’s some tool.”

”And the way he wants to train him like a dog,” Gwen tacks on.

“Well, the training part might not be a bad thing, not the dog part though, just the command training,” Peter says.

”Peter!” Everyone yells.

”Listen!” He palms the air in calming motions. “This training might come in handy for future plans, if you know what I mean,” he tries winking, only to end up looking like he caught something in his eyes. “Do I want Miguel to be treated like some pet? Obviously not, which is why we’re here to make sure that Ol’-tight-ass McGee over there, doesn’t overstep his boundaries, but some training might help us rescue Miguel when the time comes, at least, if he learns to listen to us.”

”I guess the training could come in handy if, for instance, we need Miguel to come to us without having to fight him for it,” Pavitr agrees, nodding, “right now, he only comes up because he feels like it, maybe if there's a special way or incentive he understands it will be a lot easier.”

”Right, but it’s gonna be a lot easier for them to manipulate him too…” Miles cuts in harshly. “Remember what they’re trying to do.”

”We haven’t forgotten, but we can’t outright refuse them either,” Peter sighs. “Miles, I know this is going to be extremely difficult—“

” Extremely ,” Miles emphasizes.

“Right, especially since we got off to a bad start with Damian—“

”He’s the reason we got off to a bad start!” Miles agonizes.

“—but we’re all going to have to work together and keep Miguel safe,” Peter finishes with a reassuring hand on Miles’ shoulder. “And that means putting up with Damian.”

Miles clicks his tongue, ripping his eyes from Peter to glare at the ground. He hates the idea of working with that tyrant, hates training Miguel this way even more, especially since it’s to prepare him for something so vile, but he has to remind himself to breathe. Taking things one step at a time is better than ruining their whole operation. He doesn’t like Damian, lothes him in fact, but letting his anger overtake him will only make things worse and jeopardize his position on the team.

With a strangled breath, Miles nods. “I’m doing this for Miguel.”

He can’t fucking do this. That asshole just snapped his fingers at him. Again.

”You, Morales, will not be feeding 2099 this evening, Jennifer will do so until the siren grows accustomed to my team's presence,” Damian orders him in that condescending tone of his.

Miles tries his hardest to hide the face of pure hatred and disgust.

”Jennifer, grab the bucket and use that whistle when I tell you to,” Damian says, crossing his arms. Jennifer strolls over to Miles, smiling kindly before asking for the bucket in his hands. He hands it over reluctantly.

”Thank you,” she says. At least she's kind enough to ask for things, her gentle disposition alone makes it easier for Miles to go along with this. Damian on the other hand, makes all of his feel like he’s rubbing up against barbed wire.

Miles wants to mention that Miguel will refuse food from anyone that isn’t him, that they already discovered this fact long ago, but something tells him Damian won’t listen, maybe even yell or scoff at him, so he keeps his mouth shut.

With a tightly set jaw, Miles watches as Jennifer reaches the feeding dock and waits for Damian’s signal.

”Now,” Damien says, and like a well-trained soldier, she raises the whistle to her mouth and blows. The sound is very loud, almost uncomfortably so as it penetrates the deepest part of the tank. The whistle doesn’t look like your standard gym whistle either, but more like a mini revolver of sorts, with different holes and airways that your fingers can press against and cover, perhaps to produce different sounds and notes. 

It’s definitely some special-grade whistle, not something you can buy at the stores, that's for sure. It’s loud and neon green, and Miles glares at the damn thing like it wronged him personally.

Jennifer tries the whistle once more after no sign of Miguel. Miles sighs, they’ll be here all day at this rate. Miguel won’t be happy. He’s probably going to refuse food or lash out. He’s just a little worried that the siren might think Miles doesn't want to bond with him anymore either, because he’s pretty sure that's what these feeding sessions mean to him, bonding moments between them. Will he get angry at him? Confused? Saddened?

Miles hopes not.

“Is this how the siren usually behaves?” Damian scoffs.

No , Miles thinks bitterly, he probably senses your annoying ass and is staying the hell away.

“It might be because there's so many of us up here,” Peter says, “he tends to stay away when there's a large crowd.”

”This is hardly a crowd,” Damian clicks his tongue. No patience whatsoever.

”Or it could be because he doesn’t see Miles by the water's edge. It’s usually Miles who feeds him, in fact, he doesn’t really let anyone else do it,” Peter adds.

”Is that so?” Damian looks over to Miles, who meets the man’s disapproving gaze evenly. “That's something we're going to have to break.”

Miles wants to roll his eyes and bare his teeth. How dare this sorry excuse of a scientist come in here and try to break down the bond he’s cultivated and worked so hard to form with Miguel. All because of corporate greed, mind you. All because these sick fucks want to benefit themselves. None of them care about Miguel or wildlife, they’re all just dollar signs and business deals. Products. It makes him sick. Makes him want to leave and burn everything down.

But he can’t. He won’t leave until Miguel is safe. Personal anger be damned, he won’t let him go hungry. Not under his watch.

As if sensing his inner turmoil, red eyes break through the surface. Miguel watches them from a distance, his eyes dark and methodical. He doesn’t try to move closer, only showing the top half of his face, almost like an alligator in a swamp.

”Jennifer, call him over,” Damian says, watching Miguel coldly.

She nods and places her fingers in different positions than before, producing a different note. Miguel growls.

”Every note produced by the whistle conveys a different command,” Damian explains without prompt, hands behind his back. Miles tries not to roll his eyes. “This particular whistle means ‘food’, the one before is a special note that he’ll associate with his signature, one that doubles as a name and a command to come to us.”

Miguel glares at them, watching carefully like a predator would its prey, clearly agitated by the sound. His large flukes rise behind him like a cat’s tail, smacking the water in warning.

”He’s irritated, not that surprising, but soon he’ll recognize the notes as something to obey and not hate,” Damien continues, watching Miguel with growing interest, maybe a hint of awe? Miles isn’t sure. Maybe the cold robotic exterior isn’t as unaffected by Miguel as Dr. Borough first led on. Nobody can really escape Miguel’s charm. He’s captivating in every sense of the word.

“Maybe if I show him the food, he might come?” Jennifer suggests, and it’s the first time Miles sees her do anything without Damian’s permission. She reaches in and grabs a fish by the tail without waiting for confirmation, and something in the pit of Miles’ stomach drops.

Miguel snaps, his reaction is instant, bringing down his flukes with a powerful— Thwack !—propelling him forward at lightning speeds. Miles knows that look, the look of a killer, and quickly breaks into a run for her.

Jennifer gasps, dropping the fish in surprise as Miguel reaches for her, claws out. Luckily, Miles is faster, not faster than Miguel, but faster than everyone else to realize the siren’s intentions. He yanks her back just in time, a solid wave of water crashing against the dock, bringing along with it Miguel who is as aggressive as a bull.

”What anger,” Damian says.

”Just let me feed him!” Miles insists, directing his glare at Damian, who doesn’t look slightly fazed by what he just witnessed. “This is just upsetting him and putting your team in danger!”

”And whose fault is that?” Damian clips back instantly, with as much disdain as a prosecutor. “Who encouraged this kind of behavior in the first place? I read the report, how he practically attacked anyone else that didn’t feed him unless it was you, Morales. And your team just let it slide.”

”It’s not like that, he wouldn’t eat! What else were we supposed to do?” At this point Miles is pleading, adrenaline coursing through his veins.

“This is your fault. Instead of curbing his aggression, you made it worse, now 2099 can hardly function without you. You’ve made him dependent and weak. Did you not stop and think what this might do? What if you’re ever out sick? Or on holiday? Or even removed from his care? Ever think of that?” And the way he says it sounds like a thread. Damien holds nothing back. Miles steps back, he looks at Peter for help who can do little else but stand there like a gaping fish. “Have you ever considered the negative repercussions such careless actions could have on the siren’s health if one day you’re not here to feed him?” It’s like Miles is backed up into a ledge he’s struggling to keep a foot on, and he hates that somewhere deep inside, he knows Damian is right

“You have failed him.”

”Okay, that's enough,” Peter snaps, finally putting himself between Miles and the older man. Miles can’t even speak, let alone look at anyone in the room for that matter, shame pricking his body. His body goes cold, a painful nail stuck in his throat. His vision blurs. He’s crying. Anger swells inside, humiliation and realization too, all burning him.

Somewhere in the distance, Miguel is calling for him, but it’s so far away.

He leaves. Doesn't bother saying another word because if he does he’ll lose his temper or let them hear his pain. Miles wants neither. He can’t stand the humiliation. Walks off because he might punch the guy in the fucking face, or cry on the floor. His legs carry him out before he knows it and he doesn’t realize it until the cold metal, auto-lock door slams behind him.

Miles gasps. He just walked out. He left Miguel behind. He failed him again.

”Hey, hey!” Peni and Gwen come up to him. “You okay?”

He doesn’t get to answer, can’t answer really, as they crush him in a tight hug, and oh, Miles guesses he might have sobbed. Painful sounds come out of him that he refuses to acknowledge. He can’t really think straight as they walk into the surveillance room.

”I can’t fucking believe that asshole,” Gwen flares, breaking the tension first. “We heard it all. I need that man gone.”

”He’s so mean.” Peni nods her head, nervous. “Makes me not want to work with him.”

”We have no choice,” Miles drones out, defeated and, God, his voice sounds so used and broken. “I can’t believe I let him get to my head like that, I thought I had thicker skin…“ he mumbles. Not when it comes to Miguel, I guess, he sighs, dropping his head into his hand. “I’m getting a headache.”

”What if we report him?” Peni suggests.

”For what? Raising his voice?” Miles shakes his head, knowing it’s a losing battle. “There's no way those money-munchers at Alchemax are gonna change their precious research team because he raised his voice at me.”

”Miles, your voice matters,” Gwen says, worry written all over her face. “And he clearly made you upset.”

Miles shrugs, closing off his feelings like one would a running faucet. No, this would be something he saves for his home, dropped face down on his bed. Not here. “They're not gonna care what I have to say, Gwen.”

Gwen’s eyebrows pinch.

“He’s right, though,” Miles sighs, ”I did fail, Miguel.” He clenches his fist. “We—I shouldn’t have let him develop such a strong dependency on me, and I…I should’ve never wanted that dependency either. I’m selfish. Might have doomed Miguel, if I’m being honest.”

”That’s not true!” Peni insists.

” We did what we thought was right at the time,” Gwen defends.

”Yeah, and look where that got us?” Miles scoffs. “Miguel almost killed that lady. I can’t even blame Miguel. I blame myself. I allowed that to happen.” Miles drops his head into his hands again. “I can’t even imagine what would happen if one day I can’t be here, or worse when we returned him to the ocean. He won’t survive like that. I’m so stupid!”

”Hey! You’re not stupid!” Gwen pulls Miles’ hands away from banging on his head. “If you’re going to blame someone, don’t just blame yourself because we all had our cards to play in this, even Peter. It’s not just you, Miles. Plus, Miguel didn’t give us much of a choice, remember, he was starving himself. We would have lost him if it wasn't for you.”

That…brings some hope into his raging mind, as small as it is. It’s true Miguel didn’t make things easy for them, and honestly, Miles wouldn’t have it any other way. He loves a challenge and cares for Miguel more than anything, but in a way, he still let him down. Allowing his personal feelings to grow out of hand, so much so that he lost sight of his rationality.

”It’s all gonna change starting now,” Miles begins, more so to himself than to Peni and Gwen, who share varying glances of concern. “I’ll make things right and help train him properly, not as a pet, but for his own good, so he can survive without me.”

Miles stands just as Peter barges into the room.

”Miles!” Peter rushes in, hurrying to his side. “I’m sorry, I’m so so sorry, I’ve talked to Damian, he—“

”It’s fine, Peter,” Miles cuts in, moving his hand off his shoulders.

”What?”

”You don’t got to talk to him about anything, I’m fine. Dr. Burough is right, I failed Miguel.”

Peter looks personally slapped. “What? Kid—no you didn’t! Damian overstepped his boundaries. He shouldn’t talk to you that way at all. I’ve talked with him.”

Miles nods, licking his lips, he's not really listening. “Like I said it's fine,” he insists, shoulders dropping. “It’s a rude awakening sure, but I think I get it now. Miguel can’t carry on like this, dependent on me. I want him to survive in the ocean when we send him back, I don’t want him to depend on me anymore.”

Peter blinks, looking at the girls for any sense of direction. “Uh, okay, if you’re sure you're okay…I made sure to let that man know not to talk to you like that again. I got your back, okay?”

Miles nods. “I think I’m going to finish my tasks for today and head home,” he says and walks out of the room. As promised, he finishes his duties without much fanfare, tries not to think about the humiliation back in that room or the fact he left without saying goodbye to anyone. It’s no use, not while he’s like this…a mess.

With a heavy heart, he heads home.

It’s only when he gets into his apartment that he lets the frustration and anger pass through him like oil, heavy and thick, setting his insides on fire. He wants to trash his place, scream at the top of his lungs, but settles for screaming into his pillow for his neighbor's sake. It’s like he’s 15 and back in high school again, except this time he isn't frustrated about his facial acne or juggling school work and tagging with Uncle Aaron, instead, he’s struggling with all of this bullshit. In many ways, he’s still that young, naive kid, just older and with a job.

Tomorrow comes and strangely enough, Miles feels refreshed. Today will be different . He won’t let that dickhead Borough get under his skin, and if he does, he’ll control his emotions. He won’t let them run rampant like the day before. He’s not expecting an apology from that prick either, or a change in attitude, even if Peter swore he talked to him. Once an asshole, always an asshole.

“Looking mighty chipper today, mate.” Hobie tips his head and that makes Miles feel even better. Yeah, he is fucking chipper today, and nobody, not even Damian, will get in the way of that.

He heads straight for Miguel’s enclosure after changing into his wetsuit, loaded with a bucket full of fish. The whistle command training isn’t until the afternoon so he can spoil Miguel in the mornings, he has no idea where Damian and his team are, nor does he care, all he cares about is seeing Miguel and getting him to eat. 

With a fortified resolution, he heads inside Miguel’s enclosure and almost falters when he notices someone already perched on a stool, tablet in hand. It’s one of Damian’s assistants—Jennifer.

She looks up and smiles, a little guilty around the edges and Miles' nerves instantly start fraying.

”I’m a little early,” she says and stands, meeting Miles halfway. “But I’m glad it was you who came through that door. ”

One of Miles’ eyebrows quirked up in slight confusion, it’s a little odd but the way Jennifer says it, in such an earnest way, it doesn’t seem creepy at all, just a little surprising. “Me? Why me?” He asks, setting the bucket down.

”Because I wanted to apologize to you,” she says, and instantly Miles' heart drops, he shakes his head, she's not the one who should be doing the apologizing. “I know it wasn’t me who made you upset yesterday, but still, I wanted to apologize on behalf of Dr. Borough since we’ll be working together for the foreseeable future. He can be kind of a…”

”Dick?” Miles finishes.

”Yeah, a dick, and I know it’s no excuse but he’s always been that way, honestly it’s taken a while for even me to get used to it.”

”You shouldn’t have to get used to it.” Miles frowns.

”Yeah, but he’s the best in his field, and I want to become a lead scientist one day too, so I kind of have to put up with it.” She shrugs her shoulders. “Having a caring and nice boss would be nice, but you don’t always get that in this field of work, and if you want to work with the best you have to put up with their nasty attitude sometimes. I know it’s sad to say but, well, like I said I’m used to it now.”

Miles gives her a worried smile, suddenly, he’s very grateful for Peter, not that he wasn’t grateful before, but now, hearing this, it puts things into perspective. Others don’t get the luxury of a loving, silly boss.

”I just don’t want there to be any ill will between us,” Jennifer continues. “The other two aren’t here yet but Thomas and Mikael are amazing too, and we’re all fascinated by Miguel! He’s so beautiful and amazing! I could hardly believe my eyes when I saw him yesterday! Such a powerful creature.”

Miles nods, genuinely touched by Jennifer’s intentions. “I never blamed you guys, I know you’re different from Dr. Borough, even if you work under him. I was actually…I was thinking of telling him I agreed with him.”

”What?” Jennifer’s brows arch up.

Miles sighs. ”The way he said it was tactless and rude, don’t get me wrong, made me want to punch him in the face, but what he said…it made me realize I’ve failed Miguel a bit.” Miles admits, looking down at the tranquil waters for a hint of red or blue. There’s no movement. “I kept thinking what will happen to Miguel when I’m not there to feed him? Will he starve himself? Will he feel hurt? Lonely? Confused?” Miles rubs his hands. “I can’t always say I’ll be there for him, even if I really really want to. Miguel means so much, I’d give up everything if it meant protecting him. And I realized that letting him become so dependent on me was a disservice to him. I want to change that. Make sure Miguel is the healthiest and best version of himself even if I’m not around.”

“Wow.” Jennifer blinks, truly surprised. “You really care about him, huh? I think that sentiment alone makes you a wonderful marine biologist, Miles.”

Miles snorts lightheartedly. “Nah, I just want what's best for him, even if Miguel doesn’t like it at first. So I’ll do this for him, and put my pride aside in front of Dr. Borough. Which reminds me, I should be apologizing on Miguel’s behalf too, he almost made you his next chew toy.”

Jennifer waves her hand dismissively. “I don’t blame him one bit, here I was, a stranger imposing on his territory with a grumpy scientist glaring at him behind me, it would make anyone aggressive.”

”Guess we’re both at the mercy of total brutes.” Miles grins and reaches for the bucket of fish. “Would you like to try feeding him again? I have a feeling Miguel might warm up to you if we give him…a couple of chances.”

Jennifer’s eyes go all sparkly and bright. “Can I? I really want to get to know him! He’s so cool.”

”Yeah, come here,” he beckons her, “crouch a little behind me so he can get used to you. I won’t promise you he'll warm up right away, he's really territorial, but maybe he’ll surprise us, who knows.” Miles shrugs. “Can I borrow that command whistle? I think it’s important he learns that.”

”Sure.”

She digs into her fanny pack and pulls out the whistle, whipping the mouthpiece down with an alcohol wipe and a tissue before handing it to him.

”Use your middle finger to cover up this opening,” Jennifer explains, pointing at the whistle, “that's the signature Miguel will come to associate with his person.”

Miles takes a deep breath, which doubles as a calming balm to his rampant mind, and blows air into the device, filling the room with vibrations and noise. Nothing happens at first, not a ripple or a wave in the water which doesn’t surprise him. He doesn’t expect Miguel to react to it right away, ever the cautious one.

”After you left,” Jennifer begins after a moment of silence, “Miguel got really distressed.” And unbeknownst to her, the words ram through Miles’ heart like a stake. “He followed after you, or at least tried to. He was calling your name the entire time. He really cares for you, huh?”

A pang claws Miles’ chest.

“Miguel and I…we have a close bond,” he says, almost in a whisper, “we’ve gone through a lot of things together…it wasn’t always easy. He hated my guts at first.” They share a laugh. “Did you know I was the one who discovered him on the beach? He was stuck in a tide pool, a really steep one, and I found him by accident. I fell inside there with him.”

”No way! Did he attack you?”

”Tried to, I almost shit my pants.” Miles smiles fondly,  “Somehow, he showed me mercy. I'll never forget that day.”

It gets quiet.

”Can I ask you something?”

“Hm?”

”What do you think about this whole breeding project Alchemax has forced Miguel into?”

Miles sucks in a breath, taking a moment to answer. It’s a loaded question, one that will haunt him for years to come. It’s only made slightly easier to think about and digest knowing they have a plan to rescue Miguel out of here, but his chest still clogs up when he thinks about it.

”I hate it with all my heart.”

”Miles.”

Miles blinks, hearing a deep and husky voice come from beside him that didn’t belong to either of them. He looks over and finds Miguel, head slightly above water, directing a scowl at both of them.

”Miguel,” Miles greets.

”He spoke!” Jennifer geeks out and Miguel growls.

”Someone’s hangry,” Miles beams, reaching behind him and offering a fish to the siren, who lingers at a distance, eyeing the fish and then the woman behind him. “Come on, don't be shy Miguel,” Miles encourages.

Miguel bares his fangs, disgruntled. “Wear,” he says, curling his tongue, “Weare, Miles.”

”Wear?” Miles tilts his head. “What do you mean, wear?”

”He’s so good at this,” Jennifer whispers from behind, catching Miguel’s attention and making him narrow his eyes, giving her the nastiest look Miles has seen to date.

”Be nice,” Miles insists, furrowing his frown, an expression that Miguel mirrors tenfold.

”Miles go. Wear go?” Miguel tries again, attempting to piece together a semblance of a sentence with the limited words he knows, and even if it’s extremely rough in both composition and pronunciation, Miles' heart still lurches with excitement and pride.

”Do you mean yesterday?” He says, sounding sadder with each word. “You’re asking where I went yesterday…”

Miguel nods and it’s single-handedly the most sweetest and heartbreaking thing Miles has seen. His eyes lower, his soul plummeting. “I’m sorry, Miguel…I…I didn’t feel good. Miles no feel good.”

Miguel tilts his head. “No feel good?”

Miles nods. “Sick.”

”Sich?” And Miguel reaches out, one single clawed finger touching the center of Miles’ chest. “Sick,” he corrects himself.

Miles can’t even bring himself to nod. It wasn’t necessarily a lie, he absolutely felt awful and sick to his stomach yesterday, it’s the fact he abandoned Miguel once more that made him incapable of looking him in the eyes. “I’m sorry I left you. I failed you.”

“Fai—“ Miguel licks his lips, crinkles his nose, something he does when he tries pronouncing a new or difficult word, “Flaild?” He scrunches his nose. Shakes his head. “Feld. Failed.”

He’s getting better at pronouncing words on the first couple of tries and Miles wants to hug him. “It means I did bad. No good.”

Miguel blinks, then shakes his head. “Miles good.”

”Woah,” Jennifer coos and Miles is thankful she can’t see his face right now or his glassy eyes. He lowers his head.

”Miles good,” Miguel repeats, finally breaching the distance between them, angling his head so he’s peering up at Miles, who is unable to hide from his velvet eyes.

”Thank you, Miguel.” He manages a small smile, reaches out, and caresses Miguel’s cheek who leans into the touch. “Hey, I want to introduce you to my friend.”

Miguel tilts his head. “Frehand?” He tastes the word on this tongue, using the whole motion, showing off his sharp teeth, a sight that has Jennifer’s eyes going wide.

”Friend,” Miles repeats, slower this time, tucking a long curl behind Miguel’s ear. “Friend is good. Jennifer is good. J-e-n-n-i-f-e-r.” He leans a little to the side, motioning towards her. The girl in question doesn’t know what else to do but wave awkwardly in the presence of a mythical creature.

Miguel frowns, a growl forming deep within his chest as he leans back.

” Friend ,” Miles emphasizes, “Good friend, not bad. Don’t hurt.”

Miguel doesn’t seem to like the sound of any of that, so he turns himself around in the blink of an eye. And already knowing what those intentions meant, Miles shields Jennifer from the full force of Miguel’s infamous tail flicks, splashing water all over him.

”Woah! You reacted so fast! Like you knew he was going to do that,” Jennifer laughs.

”Oh, I didn’t just know he was going to do that, I expected it, it’s why I brought this.” Miles deadpans, grabbing a towel and drying himself. “We’re going to have to give him more time to adjust to you and everyone else, we weren’t kidding when we said he’s highly territorial, but he’s at least putting up with your presence, so that's something. It’s the small wins with this guy.”

The morning carries on like that, with Miles feeding Miguel, and occasionally having Jennifer attempt to offer a fish like a sacrifice to a Greek God. An offering that Miguel refuses with an up turn of his nose each and every time, lying on his back with a frown and a pout. “He’s not growling at you anymore at least,” Miles tells her, happy. “That's progress.” They try teaching Miguel more command whistles, mainly, the distinct note associated with his name, one that goes largely ignored. Miles narrows his eyes, knowing Miguel is intelligent enough to know it’s for him.

Brat.

Gwen, Peter, and Paviter join them in the afternoon, taking turns with Miguel to socialize him more, or at least attempt to. Miguel is nothing if not stubborn as a mule, and a little moody this morning, so most of their attempts go largely ignored. Instead, he takes to grooming himself on the surface of the water just out of reach, almost out of spite, floating on his back without a care in the world. Despite the grand display of pettiness on Miguel’s part, it gives them a grand display of his incredible physic and a view of his powerful tail and flukes, a sight that has them all geeking out silently.

Tension breaks into the room when Damian steps in, pushing past the door with that impassive face of his that doubles as a resting bitch face. Miles mentally prepares himself. Refusing to let that man get the better of him again. Damian doesn’t waste time, doesn’t even offer a greeting or an apology to Miles, those dark eyes pin him in place without mercy.

”Are you prepared to work today, Mr. Morales? Or will you walk out on us again?” He accuses without preamble, immediately signaling him out in front of everyone.

Miles' jaw clenches, fights the urge to roll his eyes. “It won’t happen again.”

Damian doesn’t say a thing, his face says it all, a look of contempt, of doubt. He turns and faces Miguel, his hands behind his back. “Good, because in a week's time, we’ll begin introducing aquatic life to Miguel’s enclosure.”

A week??

“Let's begin.”

.

.

.

Holiday special: 

“Merry Christmas!” The faculty room inside Alchemax Sanctuary erupts in laughter and well wishes.

”See, aren’t you happy we do Secret Santa every year? Miles got a brand spanking new blender!” Peter boasts, dressed as Santa and angling Mayday away from his white beard.

”I have four blenders at home now,” Miles says.

”At least it’s cooler than a toenail clippers kit,” Gwen sighs, sipping her drink.

”Maintaining healthy manicured nails is essential, Gwen,” Pavitr defends, “besides, I wanted to get you something practical.”

”If I want to clip my nails I’ll just use my teeth!”

”You animal!!”

”The Christmas party turned out so nice too!” Peni beams, glancing around the room at all the people and decorations. “I’m glad we hosted it here in the sanctuary this year.”

“Too bad they don’t have my brand of booze.” Hobie tips his cup with a wink. “None of this soft stuff.”

“Well, there's children here,” Peter says just as Mayday climbs on top of his head. “Plus we don’t want anyone getting plastered and accidentally falling into one of the tanks.”

“Speaking of tanks,” Miles shoots up, rummaging through his bag, “I need to give Miguel his present.”

”Awwww! You got him a present!” Peni jumps up and down.

”Of course.” Miles grins.

”You’re spoiling him.” Gwen rolls her eyes good-naturedly.

”Brb, guys, gotta give this to him!” Miles declares, practically running out of the room, down the halls, and up the elevator toward Miguel’s enclosure. It’s dark out, snow covering the buildings and roads in a light sheen. Miles holds Miguel’s present close to his chest, hoping to instill some of his warmth into it.

The room is dark when he enters it, and Miles doesn’t bother flipping on the lights either. He uses a light stick on its lowest setting to guide his way instead, and kneels by the water's edge. Just as he’s about to call out Miguel’s name, the tip of a nose pokes out of the murky water, and a luxurious pair of ruby eyes stare at him, as if sensing his presence the moment he stepped in.

“Miguel,” Miles greets, eyes going soft, chest filling with honey and butterflies. “I got you a present.” He leans down just as Miguel leans up, their noses brush momentarily. He’s like a cat , Miles thinks.

”Here,” he says and takes out a white, almost holographic seashell from his coat pocket. “It’s for you.” He points at Miguel’s chest, who tilts his head and examines the object.

”You?” Miguel repeats. “Shell.”

”For Miguel.”

”For Miguel,” Miguel says, taking the seashell in his large hands, delicately bringing it to his nose for inspection and then over to his ear. “For Miguel.” He closes his eyes and listens.

”A little piece of the ocean for you.” Miles nods, touching his cheek. “I promise I’ll get you back into the ocean one day, Miguel. I promise.” Miles smiles warmly. 

“Merry Christmas, Miguel.”