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The Arctic Ocean roars.
Steve has always known one of these missions was going to be the death of him, but if he’d had to guess he wouldn’t have put his money on this one.
But, betting man or not, this seems to be it.
The ice shatters around him, the snap of it horrible and sharp even over the boom of the water. A knife-sharp shard cuts into his side and he goes under, what’s left of his breath freezing on the bottom of his lungs. Then, terrifyingly, the mass of ice is on top of him; push and pull of the water flattening him against the crackling sheet.
His heart beats laboriously and wetly, a thudding pain inside chest, and his last coherent thought is that this watery grave really wants him, pearls that were his eyes and so on.
He thinks about the bells the drowning are said to hear.
Steve is sinking, drowning. There's a flash of silvery metal, a wave of fiery orange, a hand closing around his wrist, and then nothing.
~~~
“Your arm,” Steve says, his voice still weak from the cold. “What happened to it?”
The man glances down at his arms; one flesh, one metal, resting along the edge of the basin. He looks back up, though not at Steve. “There was a fishing boat. I got caught in the net, and my—” he pauses, eyes staring off somewhere into the past. “I tried to get away, but I was too badly hurt.”
“Oh my god.” Steve tries to sit up straighter, despite the pain in his side.
“The captain took me onto the boat, and made me this arm. It took a while to attach properly, but once it was all healed up he let me go.”
“He shouldn’t have taken you like that,” Steve says before he can think better of it.
“Maybe not. But I would have died without his help.” He shivers back to the present, and is now looking back at Steve.
Steve cannot explain the anger he suddenly feels. “You wouldn’t have gotten hurt if it wasn’t for him.”
The man just tilts his head into a shrug. There’s a closed-off look in his eyes that wasn’t there before, and Steve finds he is angry at himself, too.
He rubs a hand across his face, exhaling long and slow. It hurts his ribs. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be rude. I shouldn’t have asked, it’s none of my business.”
“It’s okay, Steven.” The words are soft, level.
Steve blinks, very slowly.
“The plates around your neck,” the man says. “It’s your name on them, isn’t it? I’ve seen men wear those before.”
Steve nods, lifting his hand to his dog tags. “On the boat?” he asks, rubbing the metal between his fingers.
The man shakes his head, a slightly sad twist to his mouth. “No, Steven. On the bottom of the ocean.”
Steve doesn’t say anything.
~~~
Time in the cave passes differently from what Steve is used to, but every time he wakes up his breathing comes a bit easier, despite the number his broken ribs and the Arctic waters did on him.
Still, his wonder at having been rescued by a living miracle doesn’t fade, and how could it? Steve has never seen anything so devastatingly beautiful in his entire life.
He’s trying not to think about it too much, but it’s proving to be difficult.
“James,” the man suddenly says, his sharp grey eyes glancing up at Steve.
By now Steve is able to sit up properly and he can see the tail, swishing gently in the water. “What?” he says, distracted by the undulating shades of tangerine and coral.
“My name. It’s James. I mean, at least that’s what the captain called me. I don’t remember having had a name before that.”
Steve doesn’t know what to say to that, so he just repeats it, kind of clumsily. “James.” He coughs, wincing slightly. “It’s a really nice name.”
Something akin to a smile flickers across James’s face, too fast for Steve to be sure. He swallows, mouth suddenly dry, rubbing his fingers absently across his side.
James holds out a webbed hand, even though he’s too far away to reach Steve. “Please don’t touch the wound. I made the ointment from seaweed, it’ll help with the healing. I couldn’t do much about your ribs, but—” He cuts himself off, pausing like he is considering his next words very carefully. “You heal faster than any human I’ve ever seen.”
Steve runs a hand through his saltwater-crusted hair, scooting closer to the edge of the basin. “You could say someone saved my life, too.” He smiles and adds, a little weakly, “Even before you, I mean.”
James looks up at him, resting his chin on his arms. “Tell me.”