Chapter Text
Brock grumbled deep in his chest, letting the scrawny human pet his tail, wondering how in Atlantis he managed to get in this situation. At least the water was warm, the tiles were smooth, and the human had let him have all the fish he wanted in exchange for sitting still.
“Are you purring?” the human asked cheekily, sitting up to his waist in the water with him. Brock grunted, swatting the scrawny intern with his tail fin and gracefully pulling himself farther into the research pool so he wasn’t only half-submerged. This pool was clean and white, made of carefully smooth tile so it wouldn’t scratch the mers’ scales. It wasn’t very big—used for check-ups and measurements. Brock usually didn’t care to be in it, but hey, free massage.
“Awwww—” the intern set his tablet down on the edge of the pool, wading in after Brock till the water lapped at his bellybutton. “I was kidding, you big baby.”
Brock rolled his eyes, letting the human grab his main dorsal fin and stretch it out with gentle fingers. Brock knew the intern was taking measurements, but it still felt weird. He could see the other researcher out of the corner of his eye—the intern’s shift-buddy. The man was a sleezeball, always trying to feel up the younger interns.
“You keep trying to knock me over and I’m not getting you your favorite fish,” the intern warned, stumbling as Brock purposefully knocked against his legs, swimming in lazy circles around the human.
“How is he?” the other researcher approached, thinking he was safe with Brock’s relaxed behavior. He had a slimy smile on his face, one Brock didn’t like. “Big guy feeling friendly today?”
Brock rushed him the second he got within grabbing distance of the pool, sending a wave of water flying out. He got a hold of the researcher’s ankle, would’ve yanked him into the pool and ripped his throat out with his bare fangs—
“Mohawk!” the human bodied him from the side. He might as well have been hitting trying to budge a stone wall, but Brock let go—not before he ripped out a chunk of the man’s ankle, coloring the water red.
“You little shit—” the intern looked torn in between helping the other researcher and staying in the water.
“Mr. Cunningham!”
The human flinched, shoulders slumping. A man in a sharp suit followed by two security guards had stomped in, one on the phone and the other with a gun in his hand.
Brock’s fin rose slowly, recognizing the son of a bitch who ran the facility—Mr. Zimmer.
He’d make the man’s death slow if he ever got the chance. Rip him apart digit by digit, limb by limb, organ by organ. Rip to pieces.
“You’re supposed to keep those beasts under control!”
“I’m sorry!” Marcel Cunningham apologized, not getting out of the water, staring apologetically as the researcher lay on his back, panting and yelling for an ambulance. “Mohawk must’ve thought he was going to attack me—”
“Because they’re your little pets, are they?” Mr. Zimmer said, glaring from his safe distance away from the pool’s edge.
“No!” Marcel sighed as Brock bumped into him again. “They’re just temperamental.”
“They’re always temperamental—”
Brock got tired of the yelling, especially at his favorite human, and rammed the wall the man was standing on.
The cement wall cracked, paint flicking off.
“Moo—” Marcel said exasperatedly. Brock ignored him, going back to his slow circles. Him and the others had picked Marcel for a reason, and they didn’t care for him getting yelled at.
“Get him back to the others,” Mr. Zimmer said, clearly rattled but doing his best not to show it. “Meet me in my office.”
…
Marcel sighed as Mohawk—or Moo, if he was feeling too lazy to say his full name—bumped his legs again. The big orange and yellow bastard was completely undeterred, letting out a long grumbling noise Marcel had learned was a sound of contentment and satisfaction.
Much like a cat purring.
“C’mon you shit—” Marcel started wading farther into the pool. “Hope you’re proud of yourself for today’s ass-chewing.”
Mohawk didn’t seem at all perturbed that Marcel was upset at him, following lazily along as Marcel hit the button on the far wall of the pool to open the automatic door to the main enclosure.
Mohawk slipped on past, clicking and whistling to the rest of his pod. Marcel sighed, but couldn’t help the smile at their whistley answers.
He didn’t have many friends, his major having been filled with people a lot older than him. He’d gotten into this program at the Miami Mer Research and Rescue Center on a fluke, and so far the only friends he’d made were the mers.
And he was the only human they’d bothered to make friends with.
“Sup, big guy,” Marcel sighed resignedly, the second biggest mer in the pod swimming up to greet Marcel in his typical fashion—steamrolling him right into the water.
Marcel coughed as the green mer let him up, churring a mer’s version of a laugh and swatting him in the face with his tail fin before knocking Marcel’s shoulder. “Love you too, Daithi.” Daithi clicked some nonsense and bumped good-naturedly up against Moo.
Moo hissed at him, then dove into the pool to the caves and hideaways deep below well out of human reach. Marcel chuckled at Moo’s obvious disgust of Daithi, noting only a few of the other mers had come to say hello.
Wildcat gave Marcel a side-eye and slapped a current at him. For Wildcat, he might as well have given Marcel a hug. Froozer at least clicked at Brock and splashed him.
“Where’s everyone else?” Marcel asked, letting the mers do whatever they wanted, not touching. He wasn’t lying when he told Mr. Zimmer they could be temperamental—did he think the mers would hurt him? No? But they would hold him under the water for funsies until he thrashed if they got pissed at him.
Wildcat clicked at Froozer, who responded and brushed against Marcel’s legs. Marcel splashed them, lightly, back. “You all behave. I gotta get chewed out by the Boss Man.”
…
“What’d you do?” Scotty asked Brock, the other mer shrugging as Tyler, Scotty, and Nogla all swam back down to their main living area. They’d long learned to ignore the massive pane of glass that showed them off to the hundreds of zoo goers.
“Took a bite out of Marcel’s buddy for getting too close to the edge,” Brock said, picking at his teeth. “Man, I miss the taste of human flesh.”
“Tell me about it,” Tyler flicked his tail and lounged on his stomach on a chunk of rock that made quite a nice chair. “Sure we can’t eat him?”
“No way,” Nogla yawned, getting ready for his afternoon nap. “He gives good backrubs.”
…
Marcel knocked on Mr. Zimmer’s mahogany door, dread eating at him, water still dripping from his hair.
“Come in.”
Marcel let himself in, feeling supremely uncomfortable with this whole thing. He’d only been in Mr. Zimmer’s office three times, and all three times he’d felt overwhelmed by the sheer opulence that this man worked in. He couldn’t even bring himself to imagine the man’s mansion home.
Marcel could never figure out how the investors, media, and everyone else hadn’t realized the man was embezzling millions, all the while using the mers and the state-of-the-air facility funded by government grants as the front for his “charitable organization.”
“Have a seat.” Mr. Zimmer pointed to the chairs in front of his desk, working on something on his computer.
Marcel hesitated, noting the fine cloth. “I’ll stand, sir. I’m still wet.”
The man gave him a side-eye. “Very well.” He finished typing whatever he was working on and fixed Marcel a disappointed glare. “This is the fourth attack this week. I thought you said you could control them.”
Marcel’s jaw tightened. “Nobody can ‘control’ them—they’re feral. Mers are always feral.”
“Not around you.” Mr. Zimmer folded his hands neatly. “They’re practically puppies with you.”
Because I’m the only one who doesn’t stab them, dope ‘em, or hurt ‘em for “science.” “I’m sorry sir, why am I here?” Marcel said, nervously shifting from foot to foot.
“We have our top investor, Mr. Langley, coming to visit tomorrow.” Mr. Zimmer adjusted some paperwork. “He wants to know how far along we are on our research.”
“But—” Marcel had a sinking feeling he knew where this was going. “I’m not one of the researchers. I’m not even a trainor—I’m just an intern running labs and making their food.”
“You’re the only one who can get in the pool with them,” Mr. Zimmer deadpanned. “They take food from your hand. They come when you call, even respond to questions and orders.”
“Sir—”
“You are being promoted, Mr. Cunningham,” Mr. Zimmer said, pleased with himself. “You’re now the Head Trainer of the Miami Mer Research and Rescue Center.”
“But sir—”
“Tomorrow, you’ll put on a show for Mr. Langley. You’re gonna be our shining star.”
“I don’t—”
“You’re going to be our breakthrough for getting millions .”
“Mr. Zimmer!” Marcel exclaimed, then took a breath to gather himself. “I can’t pretend like I’ve made this great discovery! I-I-I just got lucky! The mers picked me—”
“And that right there—” Mr. Zimmer pointed, getting to his feet, “—is why you’re going to be my ticket. They picked you. They love you. No other mer in captivity has ever let a human in the same pool as them—much less touch them.”
The gleam in Mr. Zimmer’s eyes made Marcel’ stomach turn over.
“Congratulations, Head Trainer. Welcome to the team.”
…
Brian looked up, confused. “What’s Marcel doing here this late?”
Anthony opened one eye, feeling the light disturbance at the surface of the pool. “Sure that’s not just some dumbass with a needle?”
Brian swam up, ignoring the last few stragglers in front of his “room” and taking the tube to the top of the pool. Marcel was there, wading in the shallow end, fully dressed in his wetsuit again.
“More measurements?” Anthony asked. “Brock’s hiding out with the dolphins, and I’m not going to get him.”
“I see you. Get your asses up here.”
Brian raised an eyebrow at Marcel’s distorted voice, barely able to hear him at all. Anthony shrugged, and the water rippled again.
“Go to bed, or play with the human—” Anthony mused, tail flicking boredly.
Brian sighed, powering up to the surface and swimming over the ledge to join Marcel.
…
“Of course it’s you,” Marcel said tiredly, the bright red mer swimming up to him curiously. “Eight mers and it’s the little shit that comes up.”
A flicker of purple and yellow, and Panda came up too.
“Hey buddy.” Marcel dropped to his knees, the water coming up to his chest now. Panda, the nice mer he was, rumbled and rubbed against Marcel’s shoulder. Marcel took that as permission and petted the end of his tail.
Terror, the red shit, snorted a laugh into the water, staying well out of grabbing distance. He rarely let Marcel touch him—to be fair, he rarely touched anyone unless he was playing or trying to steal their food. Marcel figured it had something to do with the long scar that started on his face and roped around his neck and chest to his back.
“You could be nice,” Marcel said, feeling utterly miserable with the situation. Quiet clicking, the water disturbed, and Froozer was swimming up too.
…
“What’s up with him?” Scotty asked. “He’s not supposed to be here this late.”
“I dunno,” Anthony said, letting Marcel practically hug the bottom half of his tail. “He came in here all sappy and miserable, made fun of Brian, and won’t let go.”
“Wonder what that shithead of a boss yelled at him about,” Scotty said, getting close enough to Marcel could pet him too.
“I’m gonna apologize now for tomorrow,” Marcel said, using that uncanny tone of voice that always made the mers think he could understand them. “Mr. Zimmer made he your head trainer, and he’s got some investor coming, and I have to pretend like I’ve made some huge breakthrough with you guys—”
The three exchanged glances with raised eyebrows as Marcel wiped his face, discreetly trying to hide the fact he’d been crying a little.
“Sorry. Didn’t want to go back to my apartment yet,” Marcel sighed, the idea of returning to his barebones living quarters on the Center’s campus so depressing he couldn’t bear to go. He wasn’t sure if he had any food left. Surely with his new salary he could afford takeout—
Terror purred, long and soft, and brushed against Marcel’s back. Froozer click-whistled, turning in quick little circles. It made Marcel laugh a little, resting his head on Panda’s tail.
“You guys are so nice,” Marcel said quietly, rubbing the long fin down Panda’s tail.
Froozer answered, more or less, and yawned, wrapping around Marcel and resting his head on Panda’s back. Terror joined the pile, more or less trapping Marcel in the middle of them. Panda was already snoring.
Marcel didn’t have to go home tonight. He could just stay here—
…
“You have got to be kidding me.” Mr. Zimmer glared through the window at the entry pool below.
“We found him like that when we opened. He never scanned out last night. Putting his new security access card to good use, I suppose.”
Mr. Zimmer snorted. Mr. Cunningham was asleep on the shallow end of the pool, half-in and half-out of the water. Three of the mers were sleeping with him, sprawled out of the water with him.
The mers never left the water.
“Get him up and showered,” Mr. Zimmer snapped. “He has two hours before Mr. Langley gets here.”
…
Marcel reveled in the shower’s hot water.
He didn’t remember falling asleep in the mers’ pool, but being woken up by Terror hissing viciously at the intern sent to wake him up was not the greatest way to start his day.
Water had seeped into the hems of his wetsuit, soaking him through, and the water was cold. Plus he ached from sleeping on concrete. At least Panda had let him use his tail as a pillow.
Groaning in misery, Marcel turned the water off.
…
“I don’t like this,” Scotty said nervously, a lot of humans in fancy suits in the viewer’s box above their main tank. A catwalk extended from their box to the entry pool, where they could hear a bunch of different humans moving around.
“Wonder what they’re up to this time,” Brian said, staying just out of sight of the surface. Anthony, Scotty, and he had explained to the others what Marcel had said, and they were nervous.
“Don’t know, but here comes Marcel.” Nogla’s tail twitched. “Wonder if he’s got that good fish—”
“Anyone else with him?” Tyler asked, craning his head to try and see for himself.
“Nope.”
“Then dibs.”
…
Marcel couldn’t help but chuckle as Daithi rushed out to greet him. “You always know.” The big lug purred, not ashamed of that fact at all, and made a grab at Marcel’s bag.
“We gotta wait for everyone else,” Marcel said, adjusting the bag so Daithi couldn’t get it. He patted the water, trying to summon the others. Daithi figured out very quickly what Marcel wanted and let out a long series of impatient clicks to his friends.
One by one, the other mers swam out to meet him, all in their typical fashion. Wildcat ignored him, Panda went straight for the treats, Terror pushed his way through Marcel’s legs, Froozer churred, Crow whined, Mohawk bumped against his side, and Owl wrapped his tail around Marcel’s ankles.
“Impressive.”
Marcel started, noting a very important-looking man had made his way down the observation deck stairs to watch at the side of the pool. Mr. Langley.
“You’re not the head trainer, are you, boy?”
“I wasn’t, sir, at first,” Marcel forced out politely, fishing a few treats to toss. “I got promoted when they would only listen to me.”
“Really? Not a single other person can do what you can do?” He sounded disbelieving, but the fact Marcel was currently in the middle of eight mers and not being chewed to pieces was probably helping.
“Yes sir.” He tossed some of the fish, trying to distract himself.
Daithi got most of the treats and hissed at Terror, but shared with Owl.
“Their names?”
“The blue one’s tag is 407—”
“No, the names you’ve given them. Surely you’ve named them.”
Marcel swallowed, Wildcat rumbling into the water, warning Daithi to stop hogging the food. “Well—” he reached down, patting Crow’s tail. “This one’s Crow because when he gets all upset at his friends, he squawks like a crow.” Crow let out a stream of bubbles at Marcel and Marcel gave him a treat. “He’s one of the only ones that’ll take food from my hand.”
Mr. Langley nodded. “Who else does?”
“Wildcat—tiger stripes over there—will if no one’s looking,” Marcel said, tossing a fish at said tiger stripes, the mer grabbing it lazily. “He’s in no rush because none of his friends are stupid enough to steal his food.”
Owl purred, the rumbling echoing up Marcel’s legs.
Marcel laughed at the blatant begging for attention. “Owl will too, but only if it’s the expensive shit. He’s got good taste. This stuff is a hundred dollars a pound and he still won’t take it from me.”
“Owl?”
“Yeah, c’mere—” Marcel gestured under the water for Owl to come up, the mer obeying with a lazy air. “He’s got feathered patterns down his tail,” Marcel explained, pointing to the intricate sworls down Owl’s tail as the mer tolerated the indecency. “And he’s tawny like a barn owl. My grandpa kept barn owls for years.”
“Interesting,” Mr. Langley said, getting a little closer to look. “The rest?”
“Mohawk has the largest dorsal fin,” Marcel said, pointing to Moo playfully wrestling with Panda. “And it goes farther up his back than the others. Panda’s the yellow and purple with him. He’s got black scales under his eyes for some reason—none of the biologists know why yet.”
Crow joined Owl in wrapping around Marcel’s legs, purring at his favorite buddy and rubbing his head on Owl’s shoulder.
“And the blue one?” the investor asked, taking the final few steps to the edge of the pool.
“Froozer,” Marcel said, the mer perking up at his name. “His tag number is 407, and I tried to read it as a word one day after four all-nighters.” He chuckled embarrassedly. “Coffee doesn’t fix all the problems in the world, I guess.”
“What about Red?”
“Terror. He’s a little shit, always pranking his buddies and stealing their shit.” Marcel could’ve sworn Terror snorted a laugh before charging at Wildcat and trying to play. “The big green guy came in with him—named him Daithi after an Irish term for speed. They both came in from the Irish Sea, but Daithi’s always the fastest to get food.”
“Amazing,” Mr. Langley said, fascinated. “And they’re like this, all the time?”
Marcel hesitated. “Only for me. Nobody else can get in the water with them, or really approach the pool.”
“So they’re not trying to eat me because—”
“I have food,” Marcel said, holding up the bag. “But you might want to step back. I don’t know how much longer they’ll be in a good mood.”
Wildcat was already getting pissed, Marcel could tell, with the stranger so close to his territory. Even Panda, who honestly couldn’t give a shit about anything, had his dorsal fin up agitatedly. Crow was blatantly hiding behind Owl and Marcel.
“Are they territorial?” Mr. Langley asked, taking a half-assed step back.
“Very,” Marcel said, reaching down to pat Crow’s tail reassuringly. “But that’s what’s weird about these guys—how do I explain it—” He staggered a little as Terror tried to knock him off balance. “Mers act a lot like lion prides. Pods are composed of almost all females, with one main male. A few of the larger pods have a few extra males to help protect the babies, but other than that, male mers hate each other—they’ll fight to the death almost a hundred percent of the time.”
Moo churred at Froozer, Owl answering for him and Daithi laughing a set of clicks.
“What’s different about these guys?” Mr. Langley asked, folding his hands neatly behind him. His team was slowly making their way down the stairs, and Marcel felt sweat bead on his brow.
“They fought to stay together ,” Marcel said hurriedly, tossing out more treats to try and distract the mers. Their clicks were getting more agitated. “We brought Wildcat and Panda in together—Wildcat killed two techs and a doctor before we figured out he wanted to stay with his buddy.”
Mr. Langley nodded along, clearly captivated by the conversation.
“Then Owl and Crow—Crow shrieked so loud he cracked the observation glass on his tank and Owl wouldn’t leave his hut.” Marcel talked faster, really hoping this conversation would wrap up soon. Wildcat was getting pissed .
“So you brought them in one or two at a time—how’d you get all the groups to incorporate together?” Mr. Langley asked, completely oblivious to the fact Wildcat, Daithi, and Terror were getting royally irritated.
“We heard them calling to each other at night,” Marcel said, “on the cameras after everyone had left. Every time we’d bring a new mer or mers in, they’d figure it out by calling to each other at night. Then they’d raise fucking hell till we put them together.”
“But out in the wild, they’d try to kill each other?” Mr. Langley asked, right back to standing on the edge of the pool
“Yeah.” Marcel patted the water, whistling at Wildcat to try and get the big guy away from the edge of the pool where the man was stubbornly standing. “It’s why we don’t use these guys for a control group to study mer culture and behavior anymore. They simply don’t behave like mers out in the wild.”
“Do you think they’ve created a reverse pod?” Mr. Langley asked, started to pace, clearly using all of his four brain cells to think. “What happens if you introduce a female?”
Marcel’s stomach turned at the implications the man was trying to get across. “It goes against all morality codes sanctioned around mers. And we couldn’t if we wanted to—out of the forty-five captive mers world-wide, only six are females, and they’re all overseas. Pods are viciously protective of their females—we’re lucky to have six to study in the first place.”
Mr. Langley stroked his barely-there beard. “I’ll talk to one of my overseas friends. I might just be able to get you a female. It would be interesting to see what they do.”
Marcel watched the mers nervously. Even Panda was showing signs of getting ornery. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea—”
“That’s what everyone says when a genius comes up with a brilliant plan,” Mr. Langley said. “I’ll be in touch.”
He gestured to his team, the group leaving and chatting eagerly. Mr. Langley was on his phone by the time he reached the door. Marcel had a bad feeling about all of this, so bad he almost missed Crow curling into his hand and purring.
“Open the door!” he yelled to his brand-new assistants, wanting to get the mers back into their main enclosure as quickly as possible.
“Wait.”
Marcel closed his eyes, keeping his back to Mr. Zimmer. Crow and Owl both hissed under their breath and wrapped tighter around Marcel’s legs.
“Good job, Mr. Cunningham,” Mr. Zimmer said, feeling oh so safe with his security guards and their guns. “I knew they’d be impressed, but I never thought we’d get a female out of all this. A den mother—she’ll be worth millions. Her children—” Mr. Zimmer actually rubbed his hands together, like a villain in a kid’s cartoon. “We’d have an never-ending supply of the most exotic animal on earth—”
Marcel’s stomach churned. “They’re not animals , Zimmer!” he snapped without thinking. “You can’t force —”
“What was that, Mr. Cunningham?” Mr. Zimmer interrupted sharply, Wildcat slapping his tail against the water in irritation.
“Forcing them to breed?” Marcel whipped around, dislodging Crow from his ankle. “How sick are you?!”
“You forget your place,” Mr. Zimmer snapped.
Marcel snapped his mouth shut, then spoke with gritted teeth. “Without me you don’t have shit. Who do you think is going to introduce the female? You? The other techs? The doctors? They’ll be slaughtered and you know it. I’m your only chance to at a den mother , so no, boss , I haven’t forgot my place.”
“You little—” Mr. Zimmer forgot. He had to have. Because when he tried to step into that water, five mers rushed forward, teeth bared and furious .
“Don’t!” Marcel didn’t know why he yelled at them, but he was even more shocked they even listened. Instantly, the mers returned to him, purring in adoration.
Mr. Zimmer had lurched back, fale pale with a fresh sheen of sweat on his brow.
Marcel panted, realizing slowly, dimly, that he was the one in power here. “Try that shit again,” he said slowly. “I dare you.”