The Curran Sea

Formalities and Temptation

After a silence that thrummed with tension, he asked again "Fiancé, is it? I do not recall proposing, lass. After all this time, I should like to remember such a thing."
   Her hair was tangled about her torso, she knotted it so tightly. "I thought... I didn't know he would go back on..." Tears threatened to drown them both.
   He dared put a hand on her skin, but it was her shoulder. He was not immovable. "I do not say that I have changed my mind, Saoirse. I merely object to skimping on formalities."
   She blinked rapidly. Not a word escaped, though she tried a few times.
   "What customs have you, in the sea? What would I have done, had we met on the shore?"
   She held up one finger, skipped to the airlock, and swam out to the shoreline. He watched her go. She searched for some time. He was as patient as the waves. When she did not find what she sought, she swam back to the dome, held up a finger again, and zipped out toward the gap in the Curran C. He laid on the bed to wait. He was damned tired, and her quest was giving him time to rest.
   After another forty five minutes, he heard a tap on the glass of the dome.
   His eyes opened. She hovered, as low as the glass went, one hand pressed to its surface.
   He groaned to a sit, shook his head, and walked to where she treaded water. His palm just barely reached hers, even as tall as he was, but that was what she seemed to be after. Palm to palm, they stared into each other's eyes; man to mer.
   He knew not what he was supposed to do, but when she was satisfied, she swam to the airlock. Hal let her in, as she had been allowed access, before.
   She walked in, still slightly damp, hands behind her back.
   "And what took you so long to find, mer girl?"
   She beamed, and held out a small, pink shell.
   He blinked. "All of that for a shell? I do not understand. Please, do not cry. Enlighten me."
   Her face had fallen, thinking that he had rejected her. She'd forgotten that he did not know their ways. Had asked what he was supposed to do, and she hadn't said a word!
   "I bring you a gift from the sea," she said formally.
   A glimmer of understanding lit his face. He looked around frantically, but all he saw was his heart stone. Could he? Was it too much? Compared to a little shell, his literal heart was a bit much.
   Her eyes followed his, saw his thoughts. "There is no disparity, Ibrahim. You saw the time it took to find even one shell in these cooler waters. If that is what you would exchange, I would be honored. If you wish to search longer, that is allowed, as well. In fact, few beachgoers have spare bits of wood lying around."
   His eyes snapped to hers. "How did you know I favor wood?"
   She stepped forward, tapped his temple. "It was right there, front and center. You have missed your woodcarving, but these environs mustn't have shavings and dust."
   The corners of his eyes crinkled, though he did not smile. "Clever girl. So what, then, is the thing to do? Do I accept your hard-won shell, with a promise to have my son send one of my carvings down to you?"
   She nodded once.
   "Very well." He took the small, pink shell, with all the formality of accepting an award, but there was mischief in his gaze.
   "Am I permitted a small token of affection? Perhaps a kiss on the cheek?"
   She blushed. Quickly, before ardor could sneak in, she pecked his weathered cheek. The smile did not disappear.
   "That was nice, Saoirse, but not what I was asking."
   Her knees locked together. "Oh." Her eyes were very wide, unblinking. Slowly, she angled her cheek toward him.
   Gentle as the tides, and almost as fleeting, the warmth of his lips grazed the apple of her cheek. His beard was pleasantly prickly, against the softness of his mouth.
   A sigh shuddered between her lips when he drew away.
   "You, sir, are the purest form of torture known to man or mer," she breathed, eyes still closed.
   "You should talk," he rumbled.
   She swallowed, hard.
   "I pray that Emmett recovers quickly, else I might do something we would all regret," he all but growled. "Now, for both of our sanity, unless there is more, you should leave; at least as far as the water outside."
   Her eyes opened. His face was every bit as tortured as hers. Without a patient to tend, the tension was thick enough to cut with a knife.
   Her breath left in one long, shaky exhale. "You're probably right."
   "If I might, your vitals would support separation. Your heartbeat is much too fast, sir."
   A small, knowing smile, and she was gone in a flash.
   "Thanks," he grumbled.
   "The sooner you make a body that can... attend the lady, the sooner I shall cease to go 'dad mode' on you, sir."
   A sigh rattled around the room. "I know, Hal. I know."
   He settled in for the night, stocking the restoratives and palliatives they'd needed so frequently, bracing for the storm of night.
   A storm that never came.
   Little Emmett slept peacefully. Or as peacefully as any newborn is wont to do.