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The storm that hit that night was probably the worst one Theodore “Thunderclash” Carter had ever witnessed.
If he was miserable working the lighthouse, he could only imagine what it was like for the trawlers and any other ship and crew out on the cold, northern waters. The wind howled and ripped up anything it could to hurl around the tiny island the lighthouse stood on. The freezing rain came down sideways and the groaning of the building had made Thunderclash grip the cold railings with both gloved hands as hard as he could as the spiral stairs underfoot shuddered under him.
His telegraph had never been silent this long before, the storm must have royally messed up the lines. None of the boats could communicate, so he had put all of his energy into keeping the light turning, the wick lit. It could mean countless lives on the waters and he knew that the rotating mirror flashing at night let his friends on the coast know that he was still well and alive.
The eye of the storm wasn’t as quiet as he’d hoped, but it was certainly eerie. Despite the time, the world was oddly semi-lit a haunting, sickly green. Thunderclash pulled out his pocket watch to check the time. Almost 3 AM. He rubbed at his sore, strained eyes. It was nearing time to refill his lamps, as well as haul more kerosene for the lighthouse’s main light. He had plenty for now, but he knew he’d be even more tired later. Keeping it up now would be doing himself a favor later.
Flash!
Lightning sliced through the air and the following thunder shook the Keep to his very bones. His chest ached with it, and he could just hear Ratchet nagging him to retire early and find something easier on his body. ‘You put yourself through the wringer enough in the war, ‘Clash. We both did. Don’t you think you deserve some rest?’ But the former-medic now ran an automotive repair of all things, so could he really talk?
The next flash of lightning stole his thoughts when he thought he saw someone down at the shore. He couldn’t be sure, mostly he’d seen a bright flash of red and something that looked human-shaped but who the hell would be out tonight? Unless they were swept off the boat and thrown ashore. He swore under his breath and pushed up out of his chair.
Thunderclash passed on grabbing his galoshes as he didn’t have time to tug the stiff rubber up over his boots. He grabbed his rain slicker and raced down the spiral stairs so fast he could feel his head spin. There was no telling how long the eye of the storm was going to stay over the island that whoever was out there was in grave danger. He slammed out the door at the bottom of the lighthouse and jogged toward the wooden stairs that led down the rocky cliff to the shoreline.
The wood was slick and icy in patches, forcing him to grab at the water-logged rails to keep himself from wiping out. He forced himself to slow down, but the wind had already started to pick up around him when his boots hit the uneven mixture of rocks and sand. He hastily snapped his slicker shut as best he could through his wool mittens, heading for where he’d last seen…
There!
Horror caught his breath in his throat when he spotted skin, too much skin. And swaths of red and glittering gold and then… oh.
“What in Primus’ name?” Thunderclash muttered to himself as he saw the… tail. There weren’t enough colorful words to wrap his mind around it—and he’d fought in the Great War not even five years ago. The being was roughly two-thirds fish tail, with shimmering scales and a spiky ridge that grew from its spine. Side fins were long and shifted from a deep scarlet to molten gold, each tiny spiny tip black. The fin at the end of the tail was the same, although large enough to be a wedding veil.
The human half was pale and freckled and the most beautiful unconscious person he’d ever encountered. And frankly, he’d seen a lot of unconscious people for his age. He might have continued to stand and stare if not for the flash of lightning directly overhead. He flinched, snapping his arms over his head as he ducked. Okay, enough dawdling, Theodore! He needed to get his charge somewhere safe. And wet.
And, apparently, the mer wasn’t unconscious at all. The crack of thunder had the most piercing blue eyes he’d ever seen snapping open to stare into his very soul. The mer flailed as hard as they could, hissing and swiping black, claw-tipped fingers at him. Thunderclash stumbled back and held his hands up to show that he was unarmed, but that didn’t soothe the mer at all. They snapped sharp teeth at him, and they struggled to sit up.
Thunderclash’s gaze darted down the mer’s body, taking in the bruises and scrapes and then finally a splintered spike of wood that definitely didn’t belong there. Well, he wasn’t all that surprised, if they’d been whipped around the sea with all the debris that was currently in the water. The mer looked down at their injury and shuddered a little. The wooden spike had pierced their side, and looked like it had torn through one of the gills over their ribs. The injury oozed bright pink fluid that Thunderclash could only assume was their blood.
The mer’s eyes flicked up to his own for a brief moment before they rolled back into their head. Thunderclash darted forward to crouch and catch them as they slumped so as not to aggravate the wound. He guided their head to his shoulder and looked them over, fretting on how he would even carry them without hurting them more. He shifted to his knees when the crouching threatened to make him lose his balance. His lip curled a little as freezing cold water soaked through his pants rapidly.
The wind was starting to pick up again, and he didn’t need to look at the sky to know that the storm was moving and they were about to be engulfed once more. He carefully laid his charge back on the sand and pulled off his slicker. He’d need to wrap around the spike of wood to try to immobilize it and make the mer safe to pick up. Or as safe as it could be, with him so sharp and spiny.
There was just… so much tail. How was he going to carry them without dragging it along the ground? He hastily pulled up his sweater, shucking his arms free so he could pull his suspenders off. He shuddered as the wind picked up. He reached for the mer’s tail, careful to wrap it around him, the spikes facing away from him. It was as flexible as he’d hoped and he was able to loop it around himself completely and drape it over top itself. He looped his suspenders around the tail and fastened them together so he could loop the straps over his head and across his chest to support the tail and leave his arms as free as possible to hold the mer’s upper half.
He carefully wrapped his hands around the mer’s waist and drew them up into his arms to cradle against his chest. They were so much heavier than he looked! It took two tries before he could bring himself to his feet. His back protested as he stood and Thunderclash sucked in a breath through his teeth as the scaled tail dug into his lower belly where he hadn’t pulled the sweater down all the way. He’d cut himself on fish scales before, but these were even bigger. He trudged through the wet sand and shifting rocks back to the stairs, careful of all the intricacies of the tail. His stomach already burned from the salty water getting into the abrasion, the last thing he needed was to be stabbed by one of the mer’s spines.
Thunderclash took his time on the stairs, despite the rapidly worsening weather. It would be worse if he slipped and fell with the mer than if they got rained on, he reasoned. By the time he was at the top of the cliff, he was leaning hard in the direction of the wind so as not to be toppled over and soaked to the bone. He couldn’t help but thank his past self who thought a nice hot bath would be the perfect way to wind down an adrenaline fueled night, because there was a tub half full of lukewarm water in front of the woodstove and a pot atop it to heat more water.
He headed toward the house first, intending to get his charge settled as best he could before attempting to phone Ratchet. If the phone lines would even work. If they didn’t, he’d try to telegraph the station and see if they could reach him. He’d need help with the mer. He didn’t have anything beyond basic first aid training. He knew not to move the wooden spike himself or his charge could bleed out, and he knew how to handle the scrapes and bruises. That was the extent of his knowledge.
His hands were stiff and numb and hardly cooperating as he tried to unlatch the door. Or maybe the mechanism had iced up. He swore and kicked the door out of desperation and the wood splintered, leaving the handle still stuck to the lock. He kicked the door again with a grunt, applying more force. Inside with a broken door was going to be miles above freezing to death outside. A third kick, then a fourth, had the door juddering in its jamb, the wood around the handle looking downright frayed. A final kick with all the energy he could measure had the door slamming open.
Thunderclash hurried inside and shut the door behind them as best he could. He hooked his book around the leg of a chair to hold it closed for at least a moment. Anything was better than nothing. He shifted his grip on the mer carefully and opened the door from the tiny mudroom into the main room of the Keep’s house. He swore he could feel the ice melting from his brows and beard as he shut the door behind him. He strode purposely to the tub and then stood there, trying to figure out how to lower the mer into it while their tail was still wrapped around him.
Plus, he wanted to add the boiling water atop the stove to warm up the tub. There was no way he could lift that thing with only one hand.
He took the two steps over to his shabby little couch and carefully laid the mer down on it, staying hunched over so he could carefully unwrap the tail and remove the suspenders holding it in place. He winced as his shoulder screamed at him from holding all that weight. He hadn’t noticed it earlier, but now his body was waking up to tell him all about every ache and pain he had.
He was starting to feel like Ratchet’s favorite mutterance, ‘I’m getting too old for this shit.’
Thunderclash rolled his neck and headed for the stove. He needed to keep moving. He had a lighthouse to get back to, as well. Thousands of lives on the water depended on his light and he didn’t know how much time he’d spent on that rescue. He grabbed his potholders to protect his hands and removed the lid to the large, bubbling pot. He poured the water into the tub and went straight to the sink to pump water in. At least his pipes hadn’t frozen, by some miracle. He was able to refill the pot and place it back atop the stove.
At least the wooden floor wouldn’t be too rough on the mer’s tail, he reasoned with himself as he dragged the mer off the couch and across to the tub. He was as careful as he could be with their upper body, lowering them into the water. Hopefully it was okay that the water wasn’t briney ocean water? He’d just have to check on him.
But first, he needed to get out of his sopping wet clothes before he caught a cold. Ratchet would never let him hear the end of it, if he did. He struggled his sweater off, his shirt caught up in it. He dumped it in the sink, shucking off the rest of his clothes as fast as he could. His lower belly burned from those scales slicing into them, and he could see bloodstains on his waistband in the dim light.
A rustle behind him made him turn.
The mer stared at him with feverish eyes. Or, well, they stared at his belly and maybe lower. He was too tired, cold, wet, and had been in the Army too long to really care about being nude in front of the mer. He moved closer slowly, not sure if they were going to swipe at him again with those claws. The mer turned toward him and Thunderclash rushed forward to stop them, not wanting them to hurt themselves further.
If asked, Thunderclash wouldn’t be able to tell in all that much detail what happened next.
It was a little fuzzy, at least at first. The mer had laid their hand on his belly, over the bloodied marks, and dug their nails into his skin ever so slightly. Those luminous eyes flashed up at him and he couldn’t move. A heat he’d never felt before curled in his stomach and if he were a betting man, he’d bet every penny to his name that the mer had talked directly into his mind when they called him ‘mine’. The mer smirked at him, he was certain of it, and when the hand pulled away, his stomach was healed, although the marks weren’t gone but instead golden scars that looked like flames.
Thunderclash blinked and looked back at the mer from staring at his stomach. They were unconscious. In fact, if they weren’t in a slightly different position, he’d think it never happened. What the hell was that? No. No time. Duty called. He could figure things out after. He needed to get dressed, call Ratchet, and get back to the lighthouse.
Ratchet’s partner answered the phone, so at least the lines were up, even though he sounded horrible. Drift was much older than his youthful face looked, and had a level of optimism that both enchanted and annoyed the former-medic. Thunderclash, admittedly, didn’t know him as well as he should. He’d admit it to himself, he’d become a bit of a recluse these past few years.
Drift readily believed everything Thunderclash told him about the mer in his home and even asked questions that he hadn’t been expecting. Had he encountered a mer before too? It was the only thing he could think of as Drift asked after the angle of the spike that had pierced their gills, and the intricacies of the mer’s tail. There was a long pause after Thunderclash had given a detailed description of the mer’s gorgeous tail and had he gotten distracted and mentioned their eyes?
“Rodimus.” Drift muttered over the line without explanation.
“What’s a ‘roddy-moose’?” Thunderclash asked, brows furrowed in confusion.
“Medical talk,” Drift lied. He muffled the receiver against his chest as he spoke to someone. Hopefully Ratchet, who spoke plainly. “We’ll be over as soon as we can.”
“What?” Thunderclash spluttered. “Have you somehow missed what the weather is doing?” The lighthouse was on an island for Pete’s sake! There was no way they could safely get out to him.
“Do you trust me?”
“I don’t even know you!”
“Excellent, then you know I’d never lie to you.” Drift’s tone implied that that settled everything.
It did not.
“I don’t know that either!” Thunderclash threw up his hand in exasperation. Ratchet’s voice came sharply from the background. He couldn’t be sure of his exact words, but he knew the tone was ‘shut up and trust me’. He trusted Ratchet more than anyone in the world, although now he was wondering if maybe he should be a little less blind in his loyalties.
“Clash.” Ratchet had taken the receiver from Drift, sounding a lot closer now. “Trust me, and get back to work. I’ll handle that mer of yours.” He hung up, the line clicking and going dead.
Thunderclash covered his face in his hands and sighed. Ratchet was right. Duty. Get back on Duty.
The second leg of the storm was icier than the first and the windows were freezing up fast. Thunderclash couldn’t be more thankful to his past self for refilling the chest of drawers up here as he could layer up. He wore wool closest to his body and struggled into all the oil cloth and rubber layers to keep the wet out. Who knew how long he’d have to be out there? He had to keep the glass clear as best he could.
He scraped the glass down as quickly as he could, checking the time on the clocks inside as he finished each window. He’d collected them for this very purpose, so he could time himself and see how bad the first panel was when he got back to it. From there, he could estimate how long until he began again. That time was how long he could warm up, or feed himself, or rest. The first half of the storm had been sudden, and fairly quick. The second half? It could go a lot longer.
When the final panel was complete, Thunderclash went inside and peeled off his sleet-soaked mittens. He flexed his stiff, aching fingers to get the blood moving again until he was confident that he’d be able to write. He leaned over to snatch the storm log from the table and opened it up to the storm’s entry. He jotted down his times for each of the sixteen panels in the flickering lantern light. Some mental math told him he had, probably, twenty minutes.
Enough to run back down to the house and check on his charge. He’d left them alone for over an hour, now.
He left his slicker hanging up to drip and grabbed his mittens to hang them by the stove to dry. He’d change them out for a different pair. He hurried down the dizzying swirl of stairs. A few lanterns were running low on oil, their lights low, but he had memorized these stairs over the years. He didn’t need to see them to navigate the treads beneath his boots.
He opened the door to the tiny mid-way room between both the lighthouse tower and his living quarters. The next door opened up into the kitchen and Thunderclash looked toward his guest. The first thing he noticed as the massive, red tail was missing and he ran forward before he could even parse the rest. There was no mer in his tub, but a man.
He had the reddest hair he’d ever seen, and what he’d thought were tiny scales on his cheeks, jaw, neck, and chest were not little freckles. His fingertips were no longer clawed, although the nails remained as dark as night. The floor creaked as he approached him, and the man’s eyes fluttered open. He looked flushed and as Thunderclash knelt next to him, his impossibly blue eyes locked onto him.
He reached out to Thunderclash, a curious glittering light in his eyes battling against the fevered haze. His fingertips cautiously brushed through Thunderclash’s beard, then dropped to his throat. His touch was so hot it burned Thunderclash’s chilled skin. He mumbled something, but it sounded far from any language Thunderclash had ever heard before. He leaned closer, stroking the softly curling locks back from the man’s lovely face.
Thunderclash checked the bathwater, grimacing a little with how cold it was. But if his charge was now human, maybe it would be best for him to get out of the water? But he also didn’t think he should be moved any more than he had been. Maybe he could use a bucket and transfer the water out of the tub. At least he could get most of it out, and then bundle up his charge until help arrived.
(If it even did. Thunderclash had no idea how Drift thought they’d be able to make it out here, especially with how the house groaned in the winds.)
Resolved, he started to pull away to get a bucket. Just him shifting his weight had his charge near-explode into motion, desperately clutching at him. The sounds he made were clearly distressed, and he curled his fingers like he was trying to dig his missing claws in to keep Thunderclash right by his side.
“Okay, okay, shhh…” Thunderclash cupped the man’s face in one hand, trying to get him to meet his eyes. “You’re alright, I’ll stay.” He hadn’t been prepared for the former mer to nuzzle into his palm before coyly looking up at him. Those beautiful eyes widened a little, pleading and sweet.
He was such a sap and this man had him by the lapels already.
Thunderclash opened his mouth to try to… well, he had no idea what he was about to do as a sudden pounding at his door jerked him from his thoughts. The man flinched back and hissed in pain. Thunderclash was torn between going to see what was banging into his door and soothing the startled man.
“Theodore Alexander Carter!” Ratchet bellowed, startling Thunderclash this time. “You open this blasted door this instant!” He knew the former-medic meant it when he pulled out his full name like an angry mother. He petted the man’s hair to soothe him just once, not even sure what possessed him to do it, before hurrying to the door to unlock it.
Thunderclash barely had to open the door before Ratchet was shoving into the shelter of his home. Drift was smirking behind him, his eyes alight with mischief. He clapped Thunderclash on the shoulder and muttered something about ‘wise choice’ before heading straight for his charge. He stared after him, hardly noticing when Ratchet came to stand at his side.
“How did…?” Ratchet grabbed him by the upper arm and dragged him off toward the kitchen table. He sat at the older man’s insistence.
“Coffee first. How much longer before you have to go back out there?” He puttered around the kitchen with familiarity. He visited often when the weather was good, and Thunderclash wasn’t one to often rearrange his surroundings.
“Ten, maybe fifteen minutes?” They’d had eerily good timing. He looked over at Drift and saw him conversing quietly with the man in the tub. Occasionally, the man would look over at Thunderclash and the corner of his mouth would quirk. He felt heat rise in his cheeks and he looked away.
Only to look back once again when a glowing light swelled in the corner of his vision.
Ratchet sighed, as if he’d thought he’d have more time. “That’s how we got here.” Thunderclash didn’t—couldn’t—look away as Drift shifted. His hands were glowing, slowly shifting their way over the man’s bare chest. “Drift is like your guest. Mer. He has a… healing gift.” Ratchet wrinkled his nose as if saying so was distasteful. Thunderclash supposed it was because the man had never been much into magic or miracles and here they were looking at both.
Thunderclash dipped his head and started to rub at his temples. “Why couldn’t he—”
“What? Heal himself? He must have worn himself out in that storm. Not to mention the injury you’d described. He would have passed out at the most basic of healing magic.” He had a mug with a tea infuser in one hand and a ladle in the other. He took the bubbling water from the pot on the stove and poured it into the mug.
“Oh. Hm.” Well, that explained the mer’s sudden shift to unconsciousness—and maybe why he didn’t remember it. His hand slipped under his multiple layers over his lower stomach where those marks now laid. Warmth washed over him as a bare fingertip skimmed over the slightly raised skin. A compulsion had him looking back over to the mer-now-human only to see them staring back at him already, a brightness blazing in his eyes.
“Oh hm? What oh hm?” Ratchet looked between Thunderclash and the mer and sighed heavily. “Tell me he didn’t.”
“Didn’t? Didn’t what?” He blindly accepted the honey pot that Ratchet passed him, not looking away from the former-mer.
Ratchet slowly sat down across from him with a groan. He didn’t respond to his question, instead focusing slightly past Thunderclash’s head. After a moment, he just shook his head before rubbing at his temples. “I’m not built for these kinds of talks.” He groused, pointedly ignoring Drift’s laugh from across the room.
Thunderclash finally was able to tear his gaze away from the other side of the room and focused on Ratchet, his brows furrowing together. “What kind of talks?”
“The one we’re not having right now, because you don’t have the time.” Ratchet stabbed his finger pointedly at Thunderclash’s tea and he obediently drank it. “You can ask me all kinds of questions after the storm, but for right now, you just need the bare bones.
“That boy of yours,” Ratchet ignored Thunderclash’s splutter of embarrassed surprise and barreled right along, “can shift with the water. Freshwater gives him legs, saltwater gives him back his tail. Despite looking the part, his diet will remain primarily raw fish. And, if he’s anything like Drift, he knows plenty of our language, just can’t speak it yet.”
“Oh, don’t worry, he’ll sort that soon enough.” Drift added cheerfully. “Your language is just so weird, it takes us a while to make your silly sounds. Rodi’s not going to let a language barrier stop him from talking your ear off.” The former-mer huffed and shoved at Drift ineffectually. He looked less fevered, now that Thunderclash was studying him again, but still seemed to be a little weak. He shot a happy little smile at Thunderclash, who couldn’t help but return it.
Ratchet snapped his fingers impatiently to get Thunderclash’s attention once more. “You’re going to be seeing a lot more of him, cut with the staring. He’s going to have to shift back as soon as he’s able. Do not let him stick around.” Rodi hissed his displeasure. Ratchet waved at him in a shooing motion. “I’m serious. He needs to recover, and that means gills, fins, tail. No legs and feet.”
Drift said something to Rodi in a firm, chastising tone and the other mer just sighed and slouched a little further into the tub with a tiny slosh of water. Drift at least sounded sympathetic as he kept going with his explanation.
“He can stay until the storm’s over, but as soon as the waters are safe, he needs to go home.” Ratchet’s mouth twisted and he looked sorry for what he was about to say. “It will be unpleasant for you both, but it won’t be forever.”
Thunderclash had more questions than answers, but before he could even get the right words together to ask questions, Ratchet was standing. He let himself get bullied to his feet, his tea half drunk. He had to get back on duty, and with the two here, he felt better about leaving Rodi. He had never felt so reluctant to return to the lighthouse before, but he was practically dragging his feet. He supposed he didn’t often work storms this bad, either.
At least he’d have time to plan everything he wanted to ask Ratchet while he was scraping down the windows. He mull over all the information first and then he’d corner Ratchet and get some real answers out of him.
That had been the plan, at least. When he returned to the house once more to thaw his frozen hands and maybe start something stronger than tea in the percolator, the former-medic and his partner were gone. A note on the table said they’d speak in a few days. Blast. It wouldn’t be the first time Ratchet walked out to void a conversation he didn’t want to have. It likely wouldn’t be the last. But this was certainly the most covert, indirect time.
He looked around the main room of his home and spotted a shock of red hair peeking over the side of his favorite armchair. Thunderclash crept over as quietly as he could in his boots and took in the sight. Rodi had been bundled up in every blanket that Drift could find. His feet were propped up on the footrest, and he’d slouched and tipped over in his sleep. The blankets had been tucked up to his chin at one point but had drooped enough that Thunderclash could see a pair of his long johns and a spare sweater had been borrowed.
Rodi’s hair had gotten mussed as he slept and the compulsion to reach out and fix it couldn’t be stopped. Thunderclash ended up carding his fingers through his hair until he heard the coffee starting to percolate. When he finally started to pull away, Rodi’s eyes opened a little and he pushed him into his hand with a happy little trill. Thunderclash’s heart squeezed in his chest and he couldn’t pull away just yet.
“Mine.” Rodi had said that before, and it sounded even clearer now.
Thunderclash’s brows knit together. “Yours?” What was his? But the mer didn’t clarify, just looked pleased as punch and wriggled happily in his blanket nest. He started to sit up and Thunderclash pulled back to give him room. His stomach twisted a little and he frowned to himself as he turned away and went to prepare a thermos for his coffee to bring up with him.
He couldn’t linger. The ice hadn’t slowed much from his previous round of cleaning the glass. Plus, he’d need to go out to the oil house and bring more oil for the lamp up to the top of the lighthouse. He didn’t even know if the oil house door was frozen shut or not.
He checked on Rodi, tucking him back in before heading out. The mer had made the saddest noise of dissent he’d ever heard. Thunderclash had almost given in and bundled up the man into his arms. He didn’t know why he wanted to or what made him think it was acceptable behavior with someone he just met. He also didn’t know why he felt that Rodi wanted it just as much as he did.
It was a thought that stuck with him as he chipped away the ice on the oil house door. It plagued him as he refilled the oil reservoir, and when he cleaned the windows. In fact, most of his thoughts revolved around Rodi up until he stepped back inside and was confronted by the man himself.
Thunderclash nearly jumped out of his skin. He hadn’t expected to turn around from latching the door shut tight to Rodi standing there and staring at him. He had wrapped himself up in a blanket or two, although they ere falling off his shoulder. His bare feet poked out from under the hem of the blanket, looking pale and cold. Now that he was watching carefully, he could see him shivering.
If asked later, Thunderclash wouldn’t be able to say what possessed him. He strode toward the mer, who watched him intently with piercing blue eyes that Thunderclash wanted to always look at him like that. Rodi lifted his chin in challenge and Thunderclash swept him up in his arms. His back protested, having already carried the mer once before that night.
This time, however, Rodi wasn’t deadweight, and he was miraculously lighter without his massive tail. He wrapped his arms eagerly around Thunderclash’s shoulders and when he spoke, his tone was low and sultry. He had no idea what the mer could be saying, but it had intent and he wanted to find out what it was. Rodi didn’t stop talking, either, but Thunderclash really only recognized one word. He only said it once, but there was a weight to it that it caught his attention.
Mate.
Was that what Rodi had meant earlier by saying ‘mine’? Was he…?
He squeezed Rodi a little harder and was treated with a delighted purring sound. Rodi nuzzled at his cheek a little before brushing his lips over the corner of Thunderclash’s eye. He was a terrifying temptation in his arms like this, and Thunderclash found himself having to make himself set the mer down on a chair next to the chest of spare clothes.
“We can’t.” Thunderclash found himself telling the mer. He dug into the chest and pulled out some thick socks and started to pull them onto the mer’s cold feet. “We… we just met, Rodi.”
“Rodimus.” He corrected, his tone sharp. So much for being gentle. The mer was definitely hurt by his rejection, even if he wasn’t saying no forever.
“Of course. Rodimus.” Thunderclash hated how good it felt to even just say the mer’s proper name. “I don’t know what’s going on between us, but it’s… it’s so much.”
Rodimus nodded. “Mates.” He pointed at Thunderclash, and then himself. He continued in his own language before stopping in what sounded like mid-sentence. He’d forgotten that Thunderclash couldn’t understand him. He growled to himself and grabbed for the front of Thunderclash’s sweater.
“Hey—” He squawked as the mer yanked his clothing up and slipped his hand between his clothes and his stomach. His fingers unerringly found the marks on Thunderclash’s belly. The direct contact made him gasp. Comforting, syrupy warmth spread through him. It felt like safety, and belonging, and home.
“Mine.” Rodimus insisted. The fiery insistence dimmed and instead it started to sound like Rodimus was pleading with him to understand. “Mine. Mates. Mine.”
Thunderclash slipped his own hand under his sweater to rest over Rodimus’s. “I’m not saying no.” He threaded their fingers together and squeezed. Rodimus cautiously looked up at him. “Just… later. Okay?” He cocked his head to the side a little, watching Rodimus carefully. “I want to know you. Understand you. And then—”
“Mates.”
Thunderclash chuckled and smiled crookedly down at him. “Yes—”
“Mine.”
He leaned down and lightly pressed his fingers to Rodimus’s lips to quiet him. “Yes. Mates. Mine, yours, what have you.” Rodimus smiled against his fingers and pulled back the tiniest bit so he could kiss the tips. Thunderclash sighed fondly and shook his head with a smile. He should perhaps be more cautious about… well, all of this. But how could he, when it all felt so right? “We should get you to bed. And not in that chair. You need to rest properly.”
Rodimus smiled and raised his arms, inviting Thunderclash to scoop him up once more. Thunderclash did as he was bid, wondering if he should be concerned that it was already hard to tell the mer no. The way Rodimus fit perfectly in his arms had him dismissing such thoughts. He carried him down the lighthouse stairs, his chin tucked down so he could meet the bright eyes that stared up at him.
Managing to get them both through the door like this was a little tricky, but he eventually made it to his bedroom. He had left the blankets turned down when he’d gotten up, so it was easy enough to lay Rodimus down into the sheets. He was tempted to crawl into the bed right after him—especially when Rodimus shifted over to make room for him. Thunderclash shook his head, regret tugging at him even as he tucked the mer into the blankets. He had duties to attend to regardless of how tired he was. He could sleep after the storm.
Rodimus snuggled down into the bed, reaching for Thunderclash. He took the mer’s hand and brought it up to his lips to lightly kiss his knuckles. “Rest. I’ll be back when I can.”
Rodimus almost didn’t let go. His eyes flicked over Thunderclash’s face as he gripped his fingers tight. Like he was trying to memorize him or at least take in every little detail that he could see in the candle light. He must have seen something there that reassured him, however, because his grip loosened and he settled back into the pillows.
The freezing rain had become sleet before it melted into pelting rain. The storm moved sluggishly, but at least the bitter cold seemed to move on and give way to temperatures more befitting this far into Spring. Thunderclash was able to take enough time to feed himself, and ships were finally checking in over the telegraph once more. He poked his head into his bedroom to make sure that Rodimus was still there.
The mer’s arms still stretched across the bed, like they were waiting for Thunderclash to slip into them. Thunderclash’s hand gripped the edge of the door tightly to keep himself rooted to his spot. He wanted nothing more than to crawl into his arms and gather him close to his chest. He wanted to sleep the day away and wake with Rodimus in his arms. He wanted…
Not yet. Not until daylight.
Finally, finally… It was light enough that all that remained burning atop the lighthouse was the pilot light. Thunderclash smothered the lanterns and refilled their reservoirs as he made his way down the stairs. In the kitchen, he shucked the very last of his damp layers and hung them by the stove to dry before heading to his bedroom and the mer who awaited him.
Thunderclash didn’t mean to wake him when he started to crawl into the bed. He’d done his best to avoid all the creaky floorboards, and he’d moved so slowly and still those beautiful blue eyes fluttered open. Rodimus seemed pleased to be roused by him and his sheepish smile. He let the mer manhandle him how he wanted, amused at how enamored Rodimus was with being the little spoon (if all the wiggling had anything to do with it). He curled his arm firmly around Rodimus's midriff and tucked his face into the crook of his neck.
It took no time at all to drift off with the smell of brine and sleep-warm skin.
He dreamed.
He dreamed of a voice singing to him. The words were words-that-weren't-words, familiar and not at the same time. He both knew the song as intimately as if he wrote it, and had never heard it before. Every time he tried to hum along, he forgot the tune. Whenever he tried to mouth the lyrics, he couldn't remember the words.
Without warning, his world shifted around him and yet everything stayed the same.
Warm fingers caressed his cheek and he could have sworn the singing turned sorrowful. The sadness was so great that it made his own chest ache with its shared burden. The song stopped but the voice continued, whispering over him intimately, like a lover. A gentle pressure alit on his brow, then the swell of his cheek. The fingers skimmed down his throat to rest along his collarbone. The world hung frozen in time until soft lips pressed briefly to his own.
Thunderclash tried to wake, but he was so tired. He couldn't fight the soothing voice that he had no chance of understanding. Fingers carded through his hair and as he leaned into it, he was guided to rest his head on a firm chest. He sighed in sleepy bliss as the hand not in his hair started to rub circles into his back. He drifted away again.
He woke when the sun was setting and long shadows stretched through the curtains. He was alone, and the other side of the bed was cold.
Thunderclash kicked the blankets away in his haste to get up. He dragged on a sweater and called for Rodimus as he left his room. But he was as alone now as he was when he first woke up. He wouldn't have to make Rodimus leave, he supposed, as the mer was already gone.
He was alone.
He was used to being alone in his lighthouse on his island. This was nothing new for him. And yet… There was an ache in his chest that was new, that he just couldn't ignore. He knew that Rodimus couldn’t stay, that he needed to return to the ocean to properly heal for some frustratingly indeterminate amount of time. He knew that, but it didn’t mean that this was any easier for him to deal with.
Maybe part of him had hoped that he would have to fight Rodimus a little. The mer had seemed to be quite content to stay with him and reluctant to leave at every turn. How could he have left without waking him? Without saying his goodbyes…? Thunderclash pushed himself up with a sigh, his arms and back aching enough to prove that the last 24 hours were real. He had met a mermaid (merman?) and saved them from the storm. He'd somehow become theirs, their mate.
And what did he have to show for it?
Nothing.
He had nothing but his lighthouse and his duty.
Thunderclash finished getting dressed for the day, made himself coffee, and picked through his icebox for something to eat. Ascending the stairs to the top of the lighthouse took longer than yesterday. He ached all over and felt heavier than ever before. The electricity was still out, but he didn’t have the motivation to light his lanterns just yet. He just wanted to look out over the water and have his breakfast.
Something was off, when he stepped out onto the main floor. He frowned to himself as he looked around, trying to discern what it was.
He spotted his storm log on the center of his table, still open and aflame. He dropped his plate and thermos with a clang and a thud! He rushed over, ready to smother the fire with his bare hands when he froze. It… it wasn’t fire, but a scale. A glittering, semi-translucent scale of gold and red. The sight of it punched the breath out of his lungs.
Thunderclash didn’t even have to get closer to be certain of where it had come from. It was one of the belly scales that had marked him. He just knew it as he picked it up carefully, afraid it might disappear like morning dew. But it didn't disappear. It almost glowed under his touch and the warmth he felt when Rodimus touched his stomach returned.
He didn’t know what made him raise his head, but he looked out over the ocean just in time to see the distant flash of a red tail in the waves.
Rodimus.
Holding that scale and watching the ocean for another sign of Rodimus, Thunderclash knew he would see the mer again.
After all, he was his.