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Chapter Text

Agatha

A scream tore from her throat as her feet sunk into the sand. The wind whipped her hair back, the salty breeze assaulting her mouth before Agatha was drowned out by the crashing of the waves only a few feet ahead. Her eyes closed as the last of her breath left her and in this moment, all she felt was numb… and stupid. What the fuck was she doing? Her and Wanda had been together for five years, and yet… nothing changed… she didn’t feel wanted… never felt seen… never felt loved. 

Instead, she was greeted with a feeling her mother installed in her like a written computer program. 

She felt used.

Betrayed. 

Even cruel. 

And so fucking stupid. 

Tonight was supposed to be special. She had planned everything out around her hectic work schedule, around her endless meetings, countless emails, and unavoidable phone calls to make the night theirs, and as usual Wanda blew her off. It wasn’t new, it was countless times, and a thousand apologies that never felt real, never felt genuine. An apology without change. What was that supposed to mean?

Agatha fell into the sand with little grace, pain shooting up her spine, but soon it would drowned out– nothing alcohol or a joint couldn’t fucking fix. Her eyes glanced up, hollow and yet her heart ached. Today was nothing but a nightmare. A large oil spill had happened off the coast of  Topsail, the island she sat on now– staring at the sand staining with black in the low moonlight. It was only then that tears streamed down her face. They were molten, stinging her cheeks as her mind wandered the alley of her day. She remembered the first phone call, pulling her out of the cold, occupied bed. Wanda didn’t even stir as she answered, frantically getting dressed as she sped towards her company building. The office was in disarray, interns running, papers flying as her assistants left and right surrounded her. She was the proud owner of Coastal Purple, a green power company that not only headed the research of green power on the Eastern coast, but also actively donated to the marine wildlife preservations, rescue centers, and out of her own pocket– came the funds to protest against the very oil spill that was killing the seas. 

And her girlfriend? She didn’t care. Wanda only liked the ocean when it was to tan on the beach, take Agatha’s boat out when they were on the island, and complain that Agatha didn’t own a little cottage– the cottage that sat behind her now– hidden behind the sand dunes, in the growth of beach grass and seaside panicum. It was Wanda’s anniversary gift, but no– she had a stupid ass gala that she didn’t even bother to invite Agatha too. 

Her eyes wandered to the sea again, her heart clenching and constricting. It wasn’t fair– she was right, and no one fucking listened. There wasn’t enough help to clean it all up, even with Agatha’s money pouring into the clean up. Even with her own hands in the oil, finding the turtles, trying to catch the fish, even aiding a dolphin alongside the trained rescuers. Her arms were still stained, a grey tint as black stained the inside of her nails. All she could smell was the sharp pungent scent, clogging her lungs, singeing the hair of her nose. Yet she didn’t care, because the oil wasn’t in her lungs, or her gills if she had them. It wasn’t clogging her eyes, it wasn’t in her mouth– destroying her liver and kidneys. She wasn’t suffocating or coated so deeply that she couldn’t move. It was those who didn’t have a voice in this world. It was the ones who truly owned the ocean– who didn’t take more than what they gave– who didn’t disturb a balance she still had yet to understand. 

Just as she stood, about to head into the cottage, the sound of water thrashing made her freeze. Her legs turned, her gaze once more back out into the darkness of the sea. She couldn’t see far, just the outline of the rising tide. But the thrashing continued, wild like a shark ripping into its prey until the song came. It crashed into Agatha’s chest, drawing her in until the cold hands of the oil wrapped around her ankles. It was eerie, like a whale calling from the depths, yet an orchestra accompanied it. The song anchored itself into her heart– three different serrated swords tearing through her chambers. She shivered, her heart thudding– each pang rattling the swords, and before she knew it, she was running. Tripping up the sand dunes– something about the song made her forget not to do such a thing. Her mind screamed at her, urging her to grab her supplies as everything about the cacophony screamed of pain. 

Nearly tearing the handle off its hinges, she tore through the cottage’s shed, shoving a hunter’s knife into her cargo pants and a bright flashlight into her hand. She ran, stumbling in the sand as hair blew in her face. Her chest heaved as she skidded to a stop at the water’s edge, her hands shaking as she clicked on the flashlight. The oil shined back up at her, mocking her with its rainbow sheen. She rolled on her gloves, her toes hesitating at the oil’s edge as it scanned the bay. The corpses of fish were already surfacing, gleaming silver scales making it hard to find the creature that screamed, but the thrashing remained, wild and fighting until she saw it. Water sprayed everywhere, the oil slicking together as it struggled. 

When the song came again, Agatha moved– everything in her body telling her if she didn’t rescue whatever it was– it would be her fault. She didn’t have the right gear, didn’t have the suit to protect the rest of her skin, but she moved. Her feet slapped on the wet sand beneath her as she approached the rocks, climbing on to them before finding the thrashing had stopped. Her flashlight shined and for a moment the breath left her body. 

Two eyes stared back at her, glowing with the light, but they were almost human, brown and distressed. A golden ring wrapped around them and when their eyes fully met, the air was knocked out of her body. It was a woman… sort of a woman. Arms wrapped around one of the rocks, holding her body out of the oil, but along the muscles, underneath the oil, Agatha could just make out the scales. Oil-slicked fins connected to her forearms and the creature’s hands themselves… her fingers were webbed, long nails digging into the rock as the creature stared at her with nothing but fear and pain. Sticking out from her hair were ears she would guess, finlike and most likely clogged. Her jaw was sharp, a button nose, as her mouth opened in a whine. Her teeth were sharp, razor-like, an even row of them that vowed to rip Agatha’s throat out if she drew closer… and yet she did. 

Her steps were curated, planned ahead, careful not to fall until she could step between them into the oil. It wasn’t deep, just to her knees. It was cold, but the oil was like mud, forcing her to move with extra strength– or maybe it was a warning. One to keep back from this strange woman, and yet, their eyes never left the other. When she came in arm’s reach, the woman hissed, backing away, but refusing to let go of the rock. Agatha froze, the hiss cutting through the air, making her breath stutter. But the sound was weak, whatever power left, made it meek. The woman’s body trembled against the stone, her breath came in wheezes as Agatha finally saw what was on her neck. Four even slits on each side flared, opening and closing in hunger, and yet the slick of oil held them hostage, choking the creature. 

She knelt, her hands up palms facing the creature to reveal she meant no harm. It was then in that closer light could she see the honey skin underneath the spider web of black slick. Her eyes left the creature’s for a moment, and just on the surface, she could see the dark shape of a tail. It was still, other than being pushed by the unrelenting current. It was long, so long– more eel-like than what Diseny proclaimed the tails of mermaids… she was face to face with a fucking mermaid. Yet she didn’t have the time to question it as another pained whine echoed from the creature. 

“Easy,” she whispered, her own voice foreign and rough against the sea. 

The words were more breath than sound, a fragile peace offering handed into the webbed claws of the mermaid. Golden eyes narrowed at her, a halo wrapped around sharp pupils that carried the weight of a killer. It was a warning and plea all at once as another wheeze came from her gills– then a sound tore from her again, that same mournful song. It pressed against Agatha’s bones, like sacred hands cradling her at the base of her form. She nearly dropped the heavy flashlight, fumbling with it before placing it on the rock beside her. The sound was deeper up close, but the plea was bolder, desperate, and hopeless. She came closer, the oil tugging on to stop her. 

“I won’t hurt you,” she whispered, not sure if the creature could understand, but she had to try. “But if I leave you, it will kill you.” 

The woman’s claws scraped the stone as she gripped tighter, sparks flaring in the dark as her wheezing grew heavier. Her arms trembled again, moving down into her shoulders as she bowed her head, muttering something Agatha couldn’t quite hear. Yet the fight was fading out of her, and Agatha’s chest twisted. Her gaze went to the fish being spat onto the shore, silver scales dimmed from the blackness in human hearts. She wouldn’t let her heart be one of them, she couldn’t let this thing die. Her heart already couldn’t bear the single thought of it. So her hand reached out, her knees already aching from her stance, but everything in her screamed not to frighten the poor thing even more. 

“Please, let me help you,” she begged. “Take my hand.” 

For a while, the creature only stared at her, gold piercing into her soul, making her heart stutter. The woman’s nostrils flared with her gills as another song rose. It was then a hand struck faster than a viper. Webbed fingers clamped onto Agatha’s wrist, claws pricking through the glove. The weight and raw strength of it nearly dragged Agatha down, but she held firm. And at that moment, the thrashing began again. Its tail pushed through the thickness as Agatha stumbled back until she could drag her where the sea was a puddle around her. When she looked down again, the mermaid’s tail was curled and tumbling. Tangled around her fins was a net, cutting into her scales, ripping them off where red mixed with black. 

Agatha moved carefully, making sure the mermaid’s eyes were still on her as she knelt into the sand, her knees crunching and splattering into oil before reaching into her pocket. The mermaid sat up, its eyes wide, gold illuminating from them as her gills flared in warning. The knife was revealed slowly, a sheathed blade she held in her palm for the mermaid to see– to witness the weapon was not made to hurt her. Agatha pointed at the knife before pointing at the net, wondering if the creature could understand, and to her astonishment, the mermaid nodded slowly, the illuminating gold dimming. The ropes were rough, scratching her gloves as the knife came, sawing through the oil and twain until the first one could be freed.  

Beneath her, the mermaid grew still, eyes burning into her as she worked, carefully pulling the net from under her tail until she could place it on a rock to grab later. First, she needed to figure out how to get the mermaid to shore, how she could clean her gills and tail free, and most importantly tend to the wounds that made the creature shiver. The mermaid was strong, rippling with muscles through her tail, and Agatha would not be strong enough on her own to carry her back over the rocks. She frowned, her gaze steady as she faced those strange ethereal eyes again. 

She was closer, sitting on a rock beside the creature, her mind running a mile a minute, desperate to find a way to bring the creature to safety. She didn’t bother trying to figure out how the fuck there was a mermaid before her, but in truth there was a small part of her screaming as eyes looked her up and down, the flashlight behind her casting her own shadow on the mermaid. The creature regarded her with wide eyes, almost owlish as they blinked up at her in surprise, but the mermaid’s breathing was still ragged. They didn’t have much time. She had to act now. 

Before she could go to stand, the mermaid surged forward. It was then, Agatha imagined a flash of claws, of her own blood spraying over the oiled sea ; instead, hands were on her cheeks, cupping them like she was something fragile. Agatha felt the blood drain and rekindle all at once. The woman’s mouth was pressed against hers. It was not a kiss meant for softness– it was salt, brine, and blood. It was desperate, rough, and commanding. Agatha gasped, her eyes widening as the halo of gold were only millimeters away from her own, eyelashes fluttering against her own. With her lips parted in a gasp, something hot and wet collided with her tongue. The rotting taste of oil infected her mouth, but underneath that– there was something sweet, something strange– something that made her want this kiss to be real. 

She punched back the thought as she whimpered, her body shivering as the tongue explored her mouth, and yet her body refused to move, refusing to recoil in disgust. The mermaid drank from her and only when the creature pulled back, did Agatha choke. A line of spit glistened between them, shining gold in the pale moon’s light before it vanished into the night. She could only stare at the mermaid in shock, watching as a thin, long tongue licked around her lips, recoiling at the oil as well before the look almost looked like guilt– her head bent, clumped locks of hair falling in front of her face. 

“Forgive me.” 

Agatha shot to her feet, her heel hitting the back of the rock, causing her to fall back where she sat. Her heart shuddered with the waves as the mermaid stared at her with eyes full of nothing but pleading. Agatha’s lungs burned, her chest heaving as she tried to process what just happened. Her voice was rough, broken, but clear. English, a lilt of an accent seeping through, and yet the mermaid spoke like a human. 

Holding her hand against the rock, forcing herself upright, Agatha stammered, “You– you can speak?”

The mermaid flinched as though speech itself had wounded her, but her eyes remained glued to Agatha’s, “Yes, thanks to spit. Forgive me.” 

She half nodded in response to the creature as every rational thought vanished. A normal human might have pushed the creature off of themselves the moment the mermaid surged forward… a normal human would have ignored the sound of the mermaid or worse, kill her and take her to a museum. Instead, here she was, talking to a creature that was supposed to be nothing but folklore, both of them covered head to toe in oil. She lowered herself back down, making herself level with the mermaid as the eyes refused to even blink, trained on her. 

“You’re badly hurt, and you can’t stay here,” she swallowed, her gaze dragging down to the frayed, bloodied fins. “You won’t survive it, but I don’t know if I can carry you.”

The mermaid’s gills flared once, trying to blow the oil away and yet it stuck. Her chest shuddered until the mermaid coughed, her hand finding Agatha’s to hang on to, and yet it clamped down with the strength of a shark’s jaws. Agatha hissed in surprise, but a green illuminance had her mouth gaping. The mermaid groaned, hissing as her body cracked, the glow in her tail grew brighter until the outline of scales faded. Somehow, the tail became shorter, her fins shrinking, thickening until feet emerged, human feet. The tail cut in half vertically, thighs parting into honey limps as fins withered away into nothing. The sound was gruesome– cracking bones, wet tears, and the squelch of flesh reforming itself while covered in black tar. Her stomach churned and yet her gaze remained. 

By the time the green glow ebbed into nothing, the mermaid laid bare– a woman, naked as the day she was born shivering violently as bloodied legs twitched. They were curled up towards her as tears fell from her eyes. Welts were imprinted into her skin, and from the thrashing she could see deep cuts, oozing, weeping their own pain. 

“Oh, what the fuck?” she breathed out, frozen in place as in her hand now laid something fragile and soft, still clinging to her. 

“Please,” the mermaid begged. “Please.” 

The plea once more anchored into her heart, claws digging into her very bones, and once more, her body was moving without permission. She wondered if she was under its spell, that the weird twist her heart was doing was because of the song. And yet, her mind felt clear– like for the first time she was doing something right. And Gods, she was so thankful that her fucking girlfriend bailed on her. 

Her arm slotted itself under the now-woman’s legs before the other came under her back. Ribs pressed against her fingers and she wondered how long the mermaid had been trapped in the net. Had she been thrashing for days in the cove, trying to free herself and when the oil came in, had she been chased to shore? Was there more of her, a pod of them somewhere in the deep? There were no records of these creatures, vague unsure accounts of them sure, but never like this. 

Arms wrapped around her neck tighter as she managed to grab her flashlight, stumbling her way back to the cottage. The woman’s breath was hot against her neck, hotter than a normal human’s, but eyes remained looking at her– like Agatha was some type of savior. She supposed she was, but not in the biblical sense, not the current worshipping gaze the creature had for her. The creature against her chest leaned her head away from her neck though, her face turned towards her shoulder that made Agatha pause before continuing over the rocks, her thighs quivering underneath her steps. She hurried, sighing in relief the moment she stepped into the safety of the sand– grunting slightly as she found the path, staring at the warm light of the cottage ahead. 

The mermaid shivered against her, her naked body not used to the air of the land as Agatha practically ran inside and for the first time, did not care about her floors. She went straight to the bathroom, setting the woman down on the toilet before moving to the porcelain bath tub. Steam was quick to fill the room, wanting to warm the woman first before helping her bathe. She shivered at the thought, her mind circling back to Wanda. Wanda would be furious if she ever found the woman, if she ever knew Agatha laid hands on her. But the dread of her girlfriend all faded when she turned back to the woman shivering on her toilet, brown honey eyes, staring at her like she was her only hope. And maybe Agatha was. 

Steam rolled upward like the fog of the ocean, curling around them as the creature shivered further, her teeth shattering, and for a moment, Agatha could see the clean file of human teeth instead of a predator’s. The silence was thick between them, Agatha flexing her hands as she stared back at the creature, unsure where to even begin as her mind spiralled. She had a fucking mermaid in her cottage. A mythical creature staring up at her with hope, and wariness, shivering naked before her. She was going to throw up, maybe pass out… but for the creature’s survival she couldn’t. Instead, she reached a hand out like she did the first time, wanting the creature to choose to trust her. 

“We need to get the oil off of you before I can clean those cuts,” she murmured softly, and maybe it was the gentlest Agatha had ever been with anyone else. 

The hand was soft on her own, calloused and hard… but tender and graceful all at once. Blood and oil slicked legs buckled underneath her like a freshly born filly before the woman was falling. Agatha caught her, her body flushed against the woman’s chest. Her fingers twitched on bare skin, sliding on the oil, but for some reason it felt right… her hand morphing perfectly against her hip. 

She shook out of her thoughts, wincing at them as she guided her towards the edge of the tub, sitting her on the ledge holding the shampoo and soaps. Blood and oil were quick to fog the water, turning it into a cauldron for a spell of death and chaos. The woman shifted, wincing at the stinging of the heat– a frail sound leaving her throat, half cough, half sob. Her gaze caught Agatha’s again, sea-born eyes that had seen depths Agatha could only dream of. They were enormous, shimmering with unshed tears. 

Agatha moved without thinking, grabbing a pure cotton wash cloth and dipping it under the running water. 

“You’re… you’re not supposed to exist,” she whispered, more to herself than to the creature. 

She wrapped the cloth carefully around an ankle, moving it up her calf as the mermaid hissed, but leaned into it, forcing past her own instincts. 

“I do,” came the rasp. 

Her voice was softer than Agatha expected, low and resonant, carrying a melody that soothed even as it unsettled– like something meant to be sung beneath waves. It was a voice one could drift to sleep with, a lullaby carved out of salt and tide. Her eyes never wavered, fixed on Agatha with a startling, unblinking attentiveness, though now tears streaked down to mingle with the oil on her cheeks. 

“Can I ask what you are?” Agatha’s words came out hushed. 

She reached for the shower hose, turning the nozzle gently as she lowered it, testing the spray on the woman’s thighs first. Warm rivulets ran down, carrying oil away in dark streaks until glimpses of unblemished skin appeared. Agatha’s breath caught– her gaze trailing upward despite herself, betraying her with a flush of heat at her cheeks. The water revealed more than wounds ; it revealed softness, the delicate curve of her torso, the small rise of her breasts. Agatha chastised herself silently– this wasn’t the time, this wasn’t what she should be seeing. She had a girlfriend. She should be clinical, composed. Professional.

 But more and more the waterfall of death gave way to new life– a being both fragile and otherworldly, ethereal in every sense. Beneath the clean water, the woman’s skin caught the light– scales, faint as moonlight on glass, shimmered and then vanished again as if the ocean itself lingered within her.

“Mer,” she croaked, startling Agatha’s admiring gaze away. “Sea’s child. The humans near call ‘la sirena.’”

Her words were broken, still finding the rhythm of English, and yet those eyes somehow softened even more– a snowy owl blinking up at Agatha. 

“Rio.” 

The word was faint, a breath of salt air tickling her ears. It made Agatha freeze, the cloth pausing on her arm as the tears of oil dripped from the siren’s finger tips.  

“Rio,” she repeated, her voice low. “You have a name.” 

The siren gave her the faintest of nods, like she was still deciding to trust her, “You?”

“...Agatha,” she admitted, wondering if speaking her own name would give this creature power over her, and yet there was a secret part of her that wouldn’t mind it. 

Rio’s lips curved, faint and broken, but a smile nonetheless. 

“Agatha,” she whispered it like it was the first word that ever graced her ears. 

And for the first time in years, Agatha’s heart fluttered dangerously just to the sound of her own name being spoken like it meant something more. 

As the hot water poured, the siren fell more and more relaxed, her shoulders falling, her legs now shaking as she allowed the siren to hold the shower head over her gills to clean them out. It was the siren’s hair that became difficult. Rio was unable to sit still as Agatha’s short nails lathered the shampoo into her scalp. Agatha couldn’t stop the faint smile as a purr rippled from Rio’s throat, her head leaning into it, as black gave way to dark chocolate tresses, a faint shimmer of gold highlights catching the light every so often.  

With steady hands, Agatha wrapped a towel around her shoulders, covering Rio’s body before squeezing the water out from her hair the hundredth time, finally coming out clear. She worked on her legs next, using her own training to carefully suture her skin back together. It wasn’t perfect, the siren would scar, but Agatha almost prayed to whatever deity was up there that she cleaned away the risk of infection. 

She carried the siren to her bedroom, her mind still unable to process the creature in her arms, sitting her carefully on the bed before turning to the clothes she had here. It was only when she was searching for a pair of boxers for the siren did the silence break.

“Agatha,” her name was said carefully, unsure, as if breaking the silence would put Rio in danger. 

She turned slowly, regarding the creature with a gentle glance. 

“Why?” 

It was a simple question, but it struck deep in her very bones. 

Agatha swallowed hard, “Why ‘what’?”

“Why help? Humans. Evil. They take home– destroy it. They kill and hurt balance. My people few– you hunt us where we hide. Why help when you human?” 

Rio’s gills flared, her breathing ragged as her arms came up subconsciously to cover herself. Tears welled in those gorgeous brown, rimming with a power Agatha had yet to understand or process. She felt herself deflate, unsure how to explain when she knew the anger that ran deep within the siren– maybe not to her exact understanding. But the anger at her own kind was enough. 

Before she could answer though, Rio continued, “Why help when human evil? Why you… good?”

Another sword decided to plunge straight into her heart. 

Good. 

That was never something she was called. Sure, the ones who actually applied their knowledge stood with her– called her a fighter for the earth– but others criticized her. She had money, could easily take a private jet across the country, could buy a yacht– could have more than her simple penthouse that rose high above Wilmington– the view of the ocean was perfect but could be better for any person with her money. Hells, she could probably buy Topsail Island for herself. Yet she never did… but she was never in life called good. Her own mother called her conniving to market green energy– for “conning the liberals out of the money they didn’t deserve.” And growing up… Gods– she closed her eyes, breathing in heavily as she shoved the years of abuse and torment down. 

“Good,” she whispered as her eyes wandered to Rio.

The woman on the bed was still trembling from exhaustion, blinking up but still big brown eyes remained on her. Her legs shook and underneath the wraps sat the jagged cuts from the ropes– the ones Agatha had stitched up by hand with the little medical experience she had. Her heart thudded as her mind suddenly landed in the harsh reality. Rio wouldn’t be going anywhere for weeks– she wouldn’t be returning home until she healed and even then, the oil could take weeks, months, even years to be cleaned up. And Wanda…

She shook out of her head, her tongue worrying at her bottom lip– tasting the crude oil that remained there, “No one has ever called me that before.” 

Rio only blinked up at her, waiting patiently for her to answer. 

“I… I couldn’t just leave you there,” she whispered, turning back to digging through the few clothes she had. “You were drowning… the oil was choking you. If I walked away, it would’ve killed you.”

Rio’s chest rose and fell unevenly, her gills fluttering with every shallow breath– as if she were still swimming– as if she were still in the ocean’s arms. Her fingers clutched tighter to the towel around her shoulders, eyes rimmed red from the fumes of oil and tears alike– and yet they bled with wariness and disbelief. 

“Poison from humans,” she rasped, the words still broken but nonetheless fierce. “Your kind. Always you. Black poison. Ships. Fire. You kill sea. You kill my mother. My friends. You destroy. Then you… heal?”

Agatha stared down at the t-shirt in her hands, her own chest rising faster and faster as pain radiated deep. She didn’t bother denying it. It was true… for years and years it was true and Agatha could offer nothing but the sanctity of this cottage for the mermaid before her. She couldn’t begin to understand watching a world, where it was once happy, be ripped to shreds, to watch her friends die… her family. She couldn’t understand what it was like to live always on guard for her physical being, to stay away from nets, avoid plastics, to stay undetected by humans. 

“I can’t speak for my kind,” she offered steadily, turning to face the siren again. “But I offer a place where you can heal while the seas also heal.”

“Humans… take. Always take. What you take?” brown defiant eyes burned into hers, Rio opening her mouth where the razors made their appearance, gleaming in the light. 

“Nothing. I’m giving,” she replied, approaching the siren slowly. “You don’t owe me anything. Not trust, not forgiveness… nothing. 

She hesitated, her mind going back to the gleaming of scales of dead fish pushed into her skull. 

“But the thought of leaving you bleeding, choking would have haunted me forever.”

For a long while, only the faint hum of the lamp beside the bed filled the space. Rio’s fingers dug into the towel again, her knuckles white as those eyes infiltrated her thoughts, her secrets, her lies… and her truths. Finally, with visible effort, she lost her grip on the towel, allowing it to drape across her shoulders… exposing the bones of her collar, the bruises that now marred delicate skin.  

She stepped closer, kneeling on the floor before the siren, “I’m going to put some clothes on you.”

Rio didn’t move, just stared down at her as Agatha worked, her finger tips grazing the hot, smooth flesh… and motions of it… it felt intimate, her nose so close she could smell her own lavender soap mixing in with something sweet, fresher than any salt water. She could count the scars that already healed on the siren’s legs, touch each delicate scale that threatened to shine through. She averted her gaze as Rio got the idea, lifting her hips up and taking the boxers into her hands. Agatha patted her chest dry, trying to ignore the warm breath blowing against her face before she was easing the t-shirt over Rio’s trembling shoulders. 

“You’ll need to stay warm,” Agatha murmured, more to herself than to the siren. 

She guided Rio’s body up on the only bed in the cottage, pulling the covers over her form, tucking the edges around her shoulders as Rio remained on her side, fighting the battle of sleep aching to pull her under the undertow. 

“I’ll…” she trailed off, not really knowing what to say to the siren. “If you need anything, I’ll just be in that big room where we came in.”

The siren nodded as her eyes finally closed, tears rolling off her cheeks into the silks. 

Agatha’s own legs were shaky as she walked out of the room, closing the door just enough where only a small gap appeared before stumbling back into the bathroom. Her back hit the wall as she stared at herself in the mirror, breaths raking her throat as her blue eyes became wide in terror. 

There was a siren sleeping in her bed…

There was a mythical creature alive, very real, so ethereal and beautiful in her bed. 

And it was then she knew two things for certain… Wanda couldn’t know… and her life was about to be forever changed. 

Five Years Later… 

Agatha smiled fondly at the memory, her chest aching in ways she still couldn’t understand. Even years later, a heavy rock on her finger, the ocean now gently pulled at her legs with the tide her heart still didn’t stand the love she was gifted that night. She sat on the very rock she found the siren, staring at the now perfectly green water, the bits of white foam bubbling up before disappearing. The waves crashed softly as if they didn’t want to disturb her memories. Above, the seagulls mocked each other, watching as a pelican plucked a fish from the shallows. She smoothed the stray curls away from her face before looking down to the pearl on her finger. It was delicate… purple… sourced straight from a clam’s mouth. And for a moment, she almost pitied Wanda. She had no idea what she had gotten into– no idea that her decision was going to cost her life and a part of Agatha revelled in it. 

Scooping the sea water with her hands, she pulled it up to her shoulders, easing a burn that would probably shape around her red bikini. She should have listened to her wife and put more lotion on, but for now, her wife was out of sight. Plus, being a little red meant that tonight soft, calloused hands would be rubbing over her shoulders, her back, her breasts because her wife couldn’t keep her hands to herself–

Splash! 

Agatha perked her head up, blue-green eyes skimming over the water’s surface, but the waters of Topsail were dark, almost impossible to see any life beneath. She stilled her legs, her eyebrows creasing until the breath left her body. Something cold clasped around her ankle, clamming on with furious strength. It gave her only a second to hold her breath and close her eyes until she was dragged under, the water pulsing around her body as she dragged away from the rocks with speed that left no room for panic. 

The water swallowed her whole, sand brushing against her back in soothing scratches as her body jolted from the force of it. Her lungs screamed as every instinct fought to keep her steady. Her ears roared with the rush of water, with the very speed until the cold hand released her, allowing her to kick back towards the surface. She broke free, her lungs greedy as she sputtered for a moment, her hair covering her vision as her legs moved to keep her above the gentle laps of water. 

Agatha sunk back under, flipping her hair back before rising again, wiping the salt from her eyes as she spun in a circle, looking for the creature who would dare lay a hand on her. The sea was endless around her, the shore small– taunting her with its distance– almost as if she were ripped away cruelly by a riptide. She turned again when beneath the water, something moved– too quick, too fluid. There was faint sheen that blended in with the green. It made Agatha suck in another breath, her heart begging to run as it pounded against her ribs. She faltered for a moment, her legs losing strength as the sea kissed her ears before she pushed herself up. Then, her legs stopped moving, heat pressed against her body, holding her up. 

Something was flushed against her, her thighs feeling the prickle of scales as against her back was nothing but pure rigid muscle. Arms wound around her waist, locking in place where palms splayed over her stomach. It was then the air left her for entirely different reasons as she let herself be held by scales and magic. 

“My queen,” a voice echoed in her ear. 

Agatha froze, every instinct caught between fury and surrender. Her eyes widened, water dripping from her lashes, but she remained, leaning back into the possessive being behind her. Her eyes fluttered closed as lips pressed against her shoulder, moving slowly towards her neck where she welcomed the gentle presses. Her heart melted, the fury leaving her body in a matter of seconds as wet lips sucked and pressed, before a long thin tongue was brushing over the tendon. 

“You almost drowned me,” she tried biting, but her voice came out soft, her whole body relaxed in the arms that promised to hold her in the currents. 

The laugh was low, rich, one of her favorite sounds– a sound she vowed to try to hear at least three times a day as the kisses continued. She leaned into them, remembering long ago what they meant in the ways of the deep. The gills that lined sirens’ necks were delicate, easy to rip, and not easy to heal. They were an open weakness they guarded with ferocity. For lips to be placed on them was a level of trust no siren would dare to break. It was giving their life into the hands of another siren, and that siren had to be the siren’s mate… well, wife in human terms. 

“The only thing I might have drowned was your bikini top,” her wife nuzzled more into her neck. 

Agatha looked down, finding her red top gone and rolling her eyes. Her wife hid it somewhere safe, probably where she hid her other tops, shells, hunting gear, and the few gifts she made while she swam in the sea. Yet, Agatha could never stay mad, especially when she remembered the first time Rio saw her topless. The siren wasn’t subtle at all with her staring. Large brown eyes zeroed in on her chest, that golden halo shining before disappearing, red entering her cheeks. She turned now in her arms, her hands holding onto her wife’s shoulders as Rio easily guided them where she rested on her back, floating with Agatha on top of her, her fingers tracing the few shells and sea glass that were glued on to her chest. It was a siren’s necklace, since a chain could get tangled in their gills– some type of paste made from crab and squid as Rio tried explaining it to her once after catching a bunch of them for their dinner one week. 

“I missed you today,” she whispered, avoiding eyes that stared at her like she created the sea itself. 

Her wife hummed, kissing her head, “I caught us dinner, my love, and was setting up our little plan for Wanda.” 

There was a sharp growl at the end, running so deep that Agatha felt her own chest vibrate with Rio’s. Yet, it only pulled a smirk from her lips, her body practically buzzing in excitement as she sat up, straddling her wife’s waist. With ease, Rio’s strength held them both above the water, but of course those golden halo ringed eyes were chained to her bare breasts, webbed fingers tracing gliding up her stomach to cup them. She would roll her eyes again, but a different, darker excitement was stronger. 

Her smile was all teeth, a cackle rising in her throat, “Tomorrow then, my darling song?” 

“Tomorrow at sunset,” her wife confirmed, an even row of fangs matching her smile, “we kill Wanda Maximoff.”

Chapter Text

Agatha

“Are you even listening to me?” a shrill of a voice ripped Agatha out of her thoughts. 

She snapped her gaze away from the water’s edge, away from the rainbow of oil that still held the ocean hostage. Two weeks and they still barely had cleaned any of it up. Ever since the spill, Agatha was hardly home, constantly out in the sea with her own employees, talking to news channels that were so “inspired” by her company’s charity. If only the fuckers just listened to her in the first place. During lunch breaks and when she finally did have off, she went straight to the cottage, checking to make sure that this wasn’t all a dream– that they didn’t die in 2020– that the siren in her cottage was real.

And Gods, she would be lying if she didn’t say that teaching the siren to be human made her body feel warm. 

Not that she was trying to take the sea away from her… just watching the siren learn human culture. The siren was fascinated with everything, constantly asking how everything worked from the running water, the electricity, and the “magic box with people stuck in it.” The only issue was the siren’s diet. Agatha was scared to introduce her to anything but the seafood she was accustomed to. She was just lucky she had a loyal assistant, Billy. Billy went and found fresh seafood, food that was sourced away from the oil, no preservatives or anything human to it. Agatha had to walk out of the room though when Rio would eat… clams, mussels, squid… all of it raw. And yet her heart did a funny thing when she saw the siren smile. 

“Agatha!” the bark made her knee jolt up into the table, a dull throb that would remain.

She looked up into angry green eyes, red hair fanning out like flames. Wanda sat across from her, her fingers clenching tight enough on her wine glass. She half wondered if it would explode. Her lips were drawn in that practiced line, one that told Agatha she was in trouble… again. Gods, Agatha was so tired. If she could go back in time, she would tell her younger self never to date her best friend… yeah… best friends since they were teenagers, and a decade later they were dating after a very drunk night and waking up together naked. It had been a full year of them dating, walking the carpets, travelling together, getting ambushed by fans, and so many fucking photoshoots. 

And yet… nothing had ever felt real…but Agatha figured she wasn’t meant for anything real. A part of her thought it would be easy, being around someone she knew for most of her life, parading with them in front of cameras and screens… and yet that was all it was. Just a show, a charade of their perfect life– the perfect couple. Agatha couldn’t even remember the last time Wanda had done something romantic for her. Fuck, she couldn’t even remember the last time she fucking came– had fucking sex. 

Agatha set the fork next to her plate, no longer just holding it in the air as she tilted her head, “Sorry, I’m just tired.” 

Wanda scoffed at her, green eyes rolling as she slammed her glass down, “And how do you think I feel, Agatha? I also have been working my ass off since the spill–”

No, she had not, not like Agatha had. Wanda worked in a lab– what she did Agatha had no clue. But as far as Agatha knew Wanda still had time to go to the gym, to go to expensive galas, run up her credit card bill going shopping, and spend hours doing her hair and makeup. Agatha was running on four hours of sleep, getting up at the crack of dawn to check on Rio before going out to the sea, barely stepping foot in her office as she used her voice to get more people to come out– to rescue the wildlife drowning, to clean up the oceans. It didn’t feel like enough, but had to be something compared to the so little amount of people who cared.

“You barely come back to the apartment anymore, and for fuck’s sake Agatha, I can still smell the oil on you. Did you even shower before you came here?” Wanda growled, wrinkling her nose in the process. 

Agatha took a deep breath, her gaze once more turning towards the sea before looking at her girlfriend, “You know you have your apartment too, hun. I don’t think I’ll be home much until the oil is cleaned up–”

Wanda shook her hand at her, scoffing, “Oh nonsense, sweetie. I was actually thinking I would be moving in. It’s been a year– or we could move. Get a cottage on the beach.”

Agatha was going to throw herself over the balcony and drown in the oil. She fought the roll of her eyes, letting the bitter red wine Wanda ordered her, drip down her throat. It was dry too, making her lips purse as her girlfriend continued rambling. 

“Plus, the beach would be perfect for children–”

Agatha choked. Her eyes wide as the wine chose the other pipe. Her blood rushed to her ears as she faced away from her girlfriend, clutching the railing. Children… Agatha never thought of herself as a mother– to have someone look up at her with trusting eyes, look for guidance and comfort, to even hold a baby in her arms felt foreign. And worst was she knew Wanda would somehow convince her to be the one to carry them, to be bloated as a whale, to be the one to push the kid out of her vagina. But that was nothing compared to the faint memory of a mother screaming at a small child,  dragging her by her brunette hair, and the kick square to her ribs. She could never be a mother, at least not with the example she had. 

She coughed again, unable to breathe as her face heated up. Then, there was a hand on her back, slapping it until red wine dribbled out from her lips. A waiter handed her a fresh napkin before moving on, and when she finally sat up straight, daggers were burning into her.

“Christ, Agatha– are you really causing a scene right now?” 

She dabbed the corner of her mouth with the napkin, the faint burn of wine and humiliation coating her tongue. Her lungs heaved, aching for air, but nothing hurt worse than the sharp, rehearsed tone of Wanda’s voice. 

I’m not causing a scene,” Agatha rasped, her voice still trembling just at the edges. “I just–”

“Just ‘what’?” Wanda snapped, green eyes glinting like cut glass in the candle’s light. “Not acting like a good girlfriend? Disappearing all day– most of the time not even bothering to come home to our bed. You fucking stink like the dockyard and now you’re choking to death because I mention children?”

Agatha’s nails dug into her thighs, leaving crescent so deep, they threatened to be painted in red. And still, she stared past Wanda. Her eyes found the oil deep in the water and wondered how many sea creatures were just as exhausted as she was. She wondered how much the siren at her cottage was dying to return to clean water and yet, Rio was probably waiting for her return so Agatha could teach her how to write in English, teach her how to read, and introduce her to Fleetwood Mac and the movie Practical Magic. Out there, there was somewhere warm… something that didn’t feel like she had to practice a smile. 

“Can we not do this here?” Agatha whispered, but the words didn’t come out with the usual sharpness she carried– the cold biting steel that sat anyone into their place below her. “I’ve been cleaning up the oil every day, pulling turtles, dolphins, and even sharks from the muck for weeks, Wanda. I’m–” she stopped herself, jaw tightening. 

Wanda only leaned forward, each word dripped in venom, “Aw, are you overworked? Poor, tragic Agatha– going to be the world’s big savior of the ocean. Maybe if you came home for once or I don’t know, actually text me or fucking call me– we could be planning our wedd-”

“Don’t.”

The word landed hard and firm as Agatha stood, her chair screeching across the floor as she grabbed her purse and phone. Her whole body was ridged, coiled so deeply. She swallowed hard, pressing her feelings down as her mother always taught her. There wasn’t a point anyway. It wasn’t like anyone listened. 

Before she could walk away, Wanda’s hand darted out, ensnaring her wrist until the grip was bruising, manicured nails digging hard into skin, freezing her in place. 

“Agatha, please. Sit down– people are staring,” she growled under her breath. 

She looked around, finding everyone went back to eating, lost in their own world of wealth and privilege before glancing down at the hand around her wrist like it was a stranger’s. It didn’t feel like the hand that once cradled her after she had been slapped, the one that took her to go running in the woods to escape. It wasn’t the one that held her when her mother died and all she felt was guilt of being so happy she was gone. It no longer felt like the hand she had once thought would be there forever. Instead, it was cold, wrong– like a stranger of a constrictor was wrapped around her. And something flashed through her mind– an oil-slicked hand was wrapped around her instead. Webbed fingers, pointed claws holding her arm softly, like she was something tender to behold. She shook out of it. 

“I’m tired, Wanda,” she said, refusing green snake eyes as she pulled her hand free. “And I still have a mountain of paper work at the office.”

That was a lie, but Wanda didn’t need to know that. She slipped away before her girlfriend could protest, walking out to her car. She didn’t think as she got in, putting the vehicle in drive and instead of turning towards Wilmington, she turned onto US-17 North. She didn’t even register driving, staring deep into nothing but the dark skies until she turned onto Surf City Bridge, her body already deciding where to take her. She didn’t question it… well she did question how she was still alive as she could barely remember crossing onto the bridge. Soon, she was turning up to North Topsail, driving through Surf City and up to where once the OVR Beach Access was public… that was until she bought it. She got out, opening the gate before taking her Jeep Wrangler down the beach and towards the cottage that sat behind the sand dunes. 

But a figure sitting in the sand made her freeze. The woman stared out into the oil filled sea, raven hair blowing in the wind as she pulled a purple cardigan tighter around her shoulders. Agatha got out slowly, her heart easing as she approached the siren in her human form and as she drew closer, she caught the low gleam of tears painting her cheeks. She didn’t move, not even when Agatha sat down beside her, ignoring how her tight purple dress rolled up her thighs. 

They didn’t speak for a while, just sat there in silence– letting gentle rolling waves crash, pulling back to reveal only black death. The moon grew higher until Agatha couldn’t stop the shivering of her body. 

“You are cold,” Rio’s voice was a melody that broke the silence. 

Agatha looked over at her, watching a shimmer of gold circle dark browns before it disappeared. The siren’s gaze was steady on her, almost as attentive as the night she had found her. It was soft, like Rio saw right past the walls had built for years. Agatha looked away, her heart pounding until the sand swished around her and the siren stood over her. It was then she looked up again, her heart doing that stupid little skip. Rio was ethereal, her faint glimmer of scales casting in the moon’s light. Her smile was soft, lopsided in the way only Rio could make it as a hand came down before her. It was human, no thin webs between long thing fingers. Nails were bitten down towards the bed, but when she took her hand, it felt like velvet. 

The cottage was warm when she stepped in, unlacing her Docs before following the siren into the kitchen where raw shrimp sat half eaten on the counter. Despite herself, her stomach rumbled making the siren turn to her, tilting her head as her eyes narrowed. 

“Hungry. You did not eat,” Rio said simply, more a statement than a question. 

Agatha shook her head in agreement, “No, I didn’t.”

Rio went to the fridge, pulling out a take out box that Agatha had last night. The siren lifted it, her nose twitching before it recoiled in disgust. It landed in the trash before Agatha could protest, but the siren ignored her, pulling out some cut up salmon. 

“Can humans eat this?” she asked, holding the dripping salmon. 

Agatha felt her body warm as she shook her head and laughed. It was endearing watching the siren try to understand how humans worked. Laughter spilled from her mouth before she could stop it, and in that moment, she forgot about the cold chain tying around her neck that leashed her to Wanda. Her body moved before she could process what the siren was making her feel, taking the slimy thing off of her before setting it on a cutting board. 

“Yes, but most of the time we don’t eat it raw,” she said shyly, grabbing a pan from underneath the oven. 

Rio nodded like it was the most important information Agatha had ever given her, “Teach me, please?” 

Agatha hesitated, unsure why she was noticing the gleam in Rio’s brown eyes, the muddied specks of green glinting at her with hope. The hope curled around her like the morning sea’s mist, pulling her into the siren’s snare. She swallowed it down, telling herself it was only because Rio wanted to learn– not that her voice alone was a current pulling her to depths she never swam before. It was only the siren’s fascination with the human’s world, despite its cruelties. So, she nodded, curling a finger for Rio to observe. 

She filled the pan with water first before grabbing the lemon juice, “Just watch first. Next time I’ll have you do all the work.” 

Rio nodded, her gaze focused on her hands before she spoke, “Why did you not eat? Your mate caught you dinner?” 

Agatha felt herself flinch at the mention of Wanda, but turned to fully face her, “Mate?” 

The siren nodded solemnly, “Your life partner.”

She chuckled bitterly, “We are not married, she is just my girlfriend. We are dating.” 

“Like courting?” 

“That’s an old term for dating but yes,” she replied, turning on the stove before adding salt, pepper, and basil to the salmon. “How do sirens date?” 

She hoped to lead Rio away from the topic of Wanda, maybe even learn more of the siren’s way of life. For the past two weeks, Rio had been hesitant to tell her anything about her people or her past. Agatha figured the siren was still debating to trust her, but she pulled from her slowly. They hunted in parties, really anything but never took more than their share. The only time they did was for lavish parties to celebrate the Sea and Moon Goddesses. She learned quickly not to touch Rio’s gills. She had tried checking on them, to see if there was still any oil and Rio had almost bitten her hand off. The last full moon she had walked in on Rio singing softly, her hands over her heart as she looked longly out to the sea. She wondered if it was a prayer to her Goddesses. 

A hum came from the siren’s throat, “We court to mate. Mating is life long. Mates…” Rio thought for a moment, her brain scrambling for the right word. “Souls made for mers…”

Rio trailed off again, her eyebrows creasing in confusion as she battled with the language. Agatha’s smile was soft as she placed the salmon in the pan, lidding it before starting a fifteen minute timer. 

“Soul mates?” she offered. 

Rio nodded, “Yes, soul mates are our songs. We find our songs. Goddesses made a mer for every mer.”

Agatha felt her breath stutter as she looked up at the siren, wondering if the human gods did the same. Was there a person out there just for her… one that made her feel seen? One that didn’t make her recoil at a touch and made her feel as small as Wanda did. Was there someone who looked at her the way that Rio… no, she wouldn’t think like that. Rio had someone out there for her and there was no way Rio would stay on land longer than she had too. She was still limping though, still wincing where the stitches pulled at her skin, and the water was still filled with oil. It could take months, but Agatha knew, the moment Rio was healed she would take her to where the oil hadn’t touched and she would never see her again. 

“How do you know who your song is?”

Rio tilted her head, dark hair spilling over her shoulder like liquid night. The question seemed to settle inside her chest, and for a long moment, she didn’t answer. The only sound was the soft simmer of the pan, the hush of the ocean outside pressing against the windows as if it, too, were waiting. 

Finally, she said quietly, “I don’t know. I have not found mine. Soul mates don’t happen fast. The reason we court.”

Agatha leaned against the center counter, the siren watching the cooking salmon with interest, “And how do you court?” 

Rio smiled this time and Agatha stared at the gap between her front two teeth. It was cute, natural– something rare in a human world full of science that tried to fix imperfections. And yet Agatha couldn’t help but think it was perfect, how it suited her round cheeks, the soft plush of lips she definitely didn’t think of often. 

“We do something like the box of humans did,” Rio nodded to the television. “Flowers first.”

Rio held out her palm, and in a flash of green light, sea grass grew from her palm. Agatha gasped, her hand slipping on the granite counter top. The sound that tore from her throat was half surprise, half awe. The light that bloomed in Rio’s hand wasn’t harsh or blinding, but it thrummed with its own heartbeat– alive. Then, the grass moved as if it had muscles, a mind of its own, weaving together until it formed intricate loops that looked like a flower. Agatha froze, watching as the glow dimmed, her heart beating from her chest as Rio simply took it, tucking it behind her ear. The smile left Agatha in a trance, her eyes only focused on rich brown as the siren backed up, the gap between her teeth still inviting Agatha’s tongue to trace it. 

“That’s first step. After, I hunt… I find pearls. We hear a song in soul if soulmate,” Rio nodded before her head turned towards the stove that beeped faintly. 

Agatha blinked, still unable to move. She just saw seagrass bloom from Rio’s hand– from nothing but light. It moved into a flower, the flower that was in her hair. The siren had magic… magic was real… sirens were real… She gripped the counter, her eyes closed as she focused on breathing. She listened to the sound of the timer, the steady beeping and the bubbling of the water. The smell of salmon mixed with a floral salt water scent she grew to recognize as the siren, and the warmth she felt… that was more than just the cottage, than the stove that warmed her bones from the sand infested wind. 

It was Rio’s voice that broke the trance, “I pull that off heat?” 

Agatha snapped her head up, her body moving as if gravity resisted her. She pulled the pan off the burner as beside her Rio grabbed a plate from the cabinet. The moment the salmon took its final rest on the plate, did Agatha look up at the siren. 

“You– that– magic is real?” she blurted. 

Rio only smiled at her, leaning back against the counter. Brown eyes looked her up and down before capturing her eyes, and it was then that Agatha couldn’t pull away. Breath didn’t seem needed as the siren stepped closer until she could smell the faint raw shrimp from her lips. She would have coiled away, should have coiled away at the smell, but there was something sweet underneath it. Something that made her want to have a deeper taste as a cold hand landed on her check. Except it wasn’t exactly cold. It wasn’t the rough iron that held her chained, that forced her smile at strangers, to pretend that her life was perfect, to love the woman with hair of fire that burned so deep she had no other choice but stay. But this was the water, benevolent and feathery, its slow lap of waves guiding her further out into the deep… but it was the deep that scared her… the depths that were endless black– unpredictable. Unlike the fire, words that burned so deep, turning her to a small pile of ash as her fight went up like smoke– it was predictable, something she could count on. She felt herself lean forward, remembering the sickening taste of oil and brine, and that sweetness she had clung onto like dried melted butter to a pan. But before she could taste that again, lips drew away and the siren was staring at her with a look she could not decipher. 

“Your intended make you smile not,” the truth cleaved through the haze like a blade. 

Agatha felt her body freeze as the world seemed to tilt. Her mind flashed back to Wanda, to the years Wanda did love her, hold her, and celebrate with her. She remembered that sweet smile, the press of cherry lips against hers as they laughed like the world could never touch them. But it did… she didn’t remember when but it did. She remembered the sharp remarks, every word leaving a deeper bruise and cut than her own mother’s hand could ever inflict. The teasing whispers that were nothing but guilt trips… swiping her card for that Dior dress, or the Hermes bag that was in season– the lavish dinners Wanda never finished, the shrugs she gave when Agatha signed a new business deal. The amount of times Wanda went to sleep after Agatha got her off… how she scoffed at her humor, rolled her eyes when she wanted to do something… and for the life of her… she could not remember the last time Wanda made her smile. 

Rio only stared at her like she didn’t just shatter everything… as if Rio didn’t take a toothpick to shatter the walls she had built. It was quiet, firm, impossible to argue. They hung like the bodies of women in 1692 Salem. It was unjust, unfair… but unlike the women who were prosecuted… Agatha was found guilty… at least of not being happy… 

“I–” she opened her mouth, but her throat was dry, the fight unable to take form until it festered and rotted. “You don’t know a thing about me or her.” 

It came as a growl, a dog more scared of the catch pole than the pain she faced every day. But those brown eyes didn’t even flinch, they just blinked at her– steady and knowing, the way the moon waits for the tide to reach her. 

Rio nodded once and steady, “No, Agatha. But you have no song in your eyes. She is not your song.” 

It was perhaps the clearest the siren had spoken in all of fourteen days… and all of fourteen days she had managed to penetrate down to Agatha’s heart, pulling at the thousands of tiny boxes she kept closed with a lock and key. But instead of pitying her, instead of being disgusted with them, she cradled each one, vowing to heal it until all that was left was a faint bruise, one the siren could heal with the faintest of touches. 

Agatha clung to the counter, her gaze now casted to the floor where even then, she still stared at the siren’s legs, at each delicately stitched wound that needed cleaning after this, that required her touch… Rio shifted with her, her faint scales just visible in the right gleam of the low kitchen light. And before she could bite back, before she could fight the depths that vowed to pull her to the deep, Rio’s hand broke the surface, pulling her out from drowning. 

“The food grow cold,” the siren said, voice suddenly distant again. “Eat. You need strength. 

 And just like that, she broke free into the safety of air, suspended in limbo… no longer burning… no longer drowning, just sitting in the stunned realization that maybe Rio was right… maybe she no longer had something that sang for her– something to make her smile. 

Her hands clenched into fists as the siren took the plate, carrying it to the living room as Agatha grabbed a fork, wiping a stray tear from her cheek. She would get it back… she didn’t need a creature that had known her for less than fourteen days to tell her that she was unhappy. She could make herself happy… she could be good without someone telling her she could. She wouldn’t lose herself to fire or water… no, she would figure something out.

But for now, she followed the siren, sinking onto the couch beside her and turning the television on– keeping her promise to show Rio Practical Magic. 

***

Agatha had yet to figure out how to make herself happy as she had vowed that night. She sat in her high rise looking out to the sea from her office as memories played without a remote or button to stop them. 

As Agatha had eaten her dinner, the DVD of Practical Magic played, Rio humming to the songs, her eyes wide and attention steady. She asked questions– a hungry thing for knowledge, maybe just as much as Agatha was. Although, Agatha didn’t get much more on siren culture, nor anything on Rio’s family despite asking if anyone would be looking for her. The siren only stared at her before glancing away, her attention back on the screen. Instead, Rio chuckled on the use of magic, on culinary acts until Agatha explained the ways of a Kitchen Witch and how well it worked with Green Witchery. It got the siren’s attention, her saying her own power pulled with the tides. She never took anything– simply recreated what the ocean remembered. And through the movie, she sat with Rio’s flower in her hair, it never moved– maybe jolted when a loud snarl had Agatha almost fall off the couch. 

On the screen was Jimmy Angelov, Gillian’s abuser, kidnapping the Owens. Rio’s fangs came down, the gold ring back in her eyes as scales shined in the light. Agatha had snapped into action, pausing the movie and yanking the mermaid back down onto the couch before she could bust her television or her stitches. She wasn’t exactly sure what would become of them when Rio would transform. 

“It’s just a movie, hun,” she had said softly, her thumb brushing spit from Rio’s chin (She refused to think of the action… what it meant). “Like a play– a performance.” 

Rio had blinked, brown replacing gold as her scales dimmed, “Oh, we have those too… just not realistic like this magic box.” 

The had continued the rest of the movie up until the aunts admitted to finding the bottle on the porch when she felt something on her shoulder. It was heavy, cold but firm and soft all at once. She peered down, staring at the sleeping siren, whose breaths were only a tad hoarse from the oil that must still remain in her gills. The slits of skin flared lightly with her breath, still so used to the sea, to the water she drew it from. And Agatha, who had been stiff all night, found her shoulders falling, her body turning until the mermaid laid on her chest as her back hit the cushion. She didn’t mean to… at least not really. 

It’s not like she freaked out when she realized something bright was poking at her eyelids, that something warm and heavy was pressing her deeper into the cushions, that her back and neck was screaming from the awkward position and the weight of another human on her… the weight of someone who wasn’t human… the weight of someone who wasn’t Wanda, waking up in the morning tucked in her arms.

Agatha didn’t know how she did it, but she did. She had shimmied out from underneath the siren without waking her and next thing she knew, she was at work… not in the oil infested waters. She coughed, hard, a dry sound echoing through her office… but it was nothing… not like Rio’s wheezing coughs that flared her gills so hard Agatha was terrified they would tear. Rio, who still coughed up blood every now and then– whose wounds were so deep that Agatha couldn’t bear to think what would happen if…  

She needed to stop thinking of Rio, but her gaze fell to the flower of sea grass sitting just as healthy as it was last night on her desk. It stared up at her, begging her to think if it meant something. Was Rio just handing it to her as a demonstration? Could it have meant something more? Did she want it to mean something more? Her gaze narrowed to the single picture frame on her desk– the one that Wanda put there. It was a picture of them, one when they were still friends, and not… whatever they were now. It was when Wanda would still make her laugh, listen to her dreams without mocking her or degrading her. It was when everything was perfect, when it was just the two of them against the world. Maybe it was her fault. Maybe Wanda was right and that she was too focused on saving the fucking world. She could make that happiness again… she could make it where it was just the two of them again. 

“Miss Harkness,” a cheery voice made her look up, meeting the bright grey eyes of her assistant. 

Black eyeliner was smudged at the corner of one eye, his curly black locks tussled from the win as he carried in her coffee. 

“Americano– six shots of espresso. I got cinnamon dolce this time– they were out of the caramel apple.” 

She hummed, taking it from his hands. It burned her the moment the scolding liquid touched her tongue, leaving that perfect tingling she secretly loved. Masochist? Probably. 

“Are you alright, Miss Harkness?” Billy tilted his head at her, playing with the pockets of his black kakis. 

She didn’t look up, holding her temples, “Block me off for tonight. I’ll be staying here, but you can go home whenever after hours.”

Billy shuffled his feet, flexing his fingers as he started stuttering. Agatha rolled her eyes, sitting back in her chair until the teen could finally spit out. But before he could, clicking on tiles echoed in her ears, growing closer and closer until Wanda waltzed in, red hair tumbling past her shoulders, highlighting a silk baby blue dress Agatha bought her. Well, Wanda bought it with her money. Agatha reached out, her hand snatching the flower out of sight and into her pocket before her girlfriend could see it. 

“Billy, announced my arrival, dear?” the woman smiled as slyly as a fox. 

Billy trembled, tripping past her girlfriend, “I-I just– will go.”

Agatha felt her eyes roll again as she sat back, her legs uncrossing as she looked up at her girlfriend. Wanda only kept her smile, walking around the desk and leaning down. The kiss was quick, a simple peck of lips that made Agatha flinch. She stilled herself, reaching back up, her lips searching, almost desperate to find something. But all she could taste was ash. There was nothing sweet, nothing that caused her heart to leap as it once did before. And when they pulled away, Wanda had barely noticed the difference. She just smiled a Cheshire Cat’s smile as she slid to sit on her desk in front of her. 

“Hi, darling,” her voice was honeyed, ripe… wrong. “Figured I’d come to see you.” 

Agatha bit her lip as she shifted in her chair, “Just to see me?” 

Wanda’s eyes flashed and that’s when Agatha knew she fucked up. 

“No,” she started slowly, standing up and circling behind her, hands landing lightly on her shoulders. 

For a heartbeat, it might’ve seemed loving, tender even. A partner easing their love’s stress, but everything was simply a façade– an act in a tv show. The pressure grew, fingers digging in, nails biting through cotton. 

“I just figured you wanted to apologize from last night– for embarrassing me… again, darling.”

It was a form order, one that Wanda expected her to comply with– a move to control her, to follow the delicate script that she had written. She wanted to fight back, to bite, to thrash, to tell her that it wasn’t fair after what she had said to her last night. But instead, the fight was caught somewhere in her ribs and throat, dying on her tongue. Her body shook slightly, her hand clutching the armrest, but that ever looming weight made her bite her tongue. Her eyes grew distant, staring deep into the mahogany of her desk, of the careful swirls of dead wood. 

The words didn’t feel like they came from her, but they did, hollow and remote, “I’m sorry.” 

The bite withdrew, hands rubbing her collarbone in mock affection before a hand roughly grabbed her chin, “See? Was it so hard to be good, Agatha?” 

She nodded, nails scraping the open wound on her heart as she played her part. 

“You’ll make it up to me tonight, darling. Make a reservation. We’ll have a proper dinner, one where you will stay and eat, and we will talk of our future. Plan it for real. You’ll smile, you’ll be happy, and you won’t get up and embarrass me again. Understood?” 

She nodded again, refusing to say a word. It was easier like this… to not argue, to not have her whole company staring as her heart poured out every ounce of… well, she wasn’t sure what she was feeling. It was heavy, deep– clinging to her bones in a way that made her want to scream. 

“You’ll wear that red dress I bought you,” Wanda continued, ownership dripping in her tone. “And pick me up no later than four-thirty.”  

With another peck to her lips, heels faded, but it didn’t stop the pounding of her heart. It didn’t stop the stray of tears leaking from her eyes as she lifted the flower from her pocket– staring at its perfect shape, undamaged from rough treatment. And she half wondered what it would be like to receive a bouquet of azaleas, grown just for her, offered by a hand that had touched the depths that scientists could only dream of– to hear a song that meant for her.