A/N: This is getting its own place because I'm pretty sure it's part one of a maybe three shot. Written for SoMa Week 2015 Day 5, Nightswimming. Thanks again to ilarual for the eyes. Thanks as well go to makenmeister on tumblr, who collaborated with me to create art and whose contribution is the fantastic cover.

Maka hated the sea. She had lived on the shore all her life, bound to it as surely as she was bound to eating, to drinking, to breathing. She hated that she had to come down to the small, secluded little cove just beneath her house, hated that, like clockwork, she would strip to nothing and bathe in the sea beneath the moonlight every Sunday night.

She could do it less often and still function.

She would feel even better if she did it more.

Once a week was the compromise she was willing to live with, even if it actively grated on her.

At least she'd finally scared her stupid, silly Papa off from coming with her.

When she was young, they had always bathed together, tails manifesting when they hit the water. When she was very, very young, her Mama would bathe with them, tailless and serene, basking in the moonlight, her head always in the stars above, dreaming, dreaming, dreaming of far off places.

One day, those dreams had simply swept her mother away, the sparse postcards she still sent the only evidence she'd ever existed at all. The postcards and Maka.

This night Maka was downright angry that she had to come down here, that she was stuck attending the small private college in town rather than going to her landlocked school of choice, that she was stuck always with the sea at her side, vast, unchanging yet unreliable, unpredictable, wild.

The sea was her father and her father was the sea.

She was also angry that she had to give up her Friday night to this, since she would be in her good friend's wedding the next day and wouldn't be home from the trip until Monday.

She couldn't risk feeling weak for the whole thing, so here she was. Again. This time on a Friday night. It's not that she had any particular plans, but it was the principle of the thing, dammit!

She looked at the clouded sky overhead, the lack of stars somehow comforting and disheartening all at once, looked down from the cliff face into the churning waters below, then stripped down to only her bikini top quickly before diving off the cliff face and into the turbid waters without a care.

Her father would be appalled at the risk she was taking, but Maka loved it. It felt almost like flying for all of ten seconds. It was, far and away, the best part of any given Sunday, those brief seconds when she took to the air, those brief seconds before she hit the water and her body changed and she once more became one with the sea.

Those few seconds made this odd Friday swim almost bearable.

Fully transformed within the cold Pacific, Maka dove beneath the turbulent waters, letting her newly reformed gills breathe for her, gliding along the bottom before surfacing in a graceful arc, racing along the waves before they came crashing into the high cliff face. She felt the exhilaration of weaving through the tumultuous sea, the inborn bond with her Father's birthright running thick through her veins in her transformed state. The mermaid in her thrived within the churning waters, and oh how she loathed that part of herself.

Exhausting her pent up need to simply swim, she eventually made her way to the little grotto in the cliff face. She had discovered it as a small child, a place where a little hot spring met the ocean waters to leave it warm, comfortable. A place where odds and ends washed up and came to lie. There was a form of algae that grew on the walls that offered faint light that was as good as bright daylight to her mermaid eyes. She swam inside as she had done a thousand thousand times and looked around for what new curiosities the sea had swept in. She had found countless messages in bottles and driftwood, but there were also stranger things, forks and spoons, little statuettes and countless old, waterlogged books.

Maka liked to sit and imagine what kind of odd journey had brought such things here, what type of people had used to own them and what had happened to them. She supposed it was the lover of stories in her, that same love that had her hanging on every word when her Papa talked about his homeland when she was still small, that same love that had her studying literature in school.

Whatever the case, the grotto was the other part of her Sunday (though now Friday) nights she didn't loathe. There was nothing new today but for some driftwood, odd but not entirely unprecedented, so she simply swam into a quiet corner she'd long ago claimed as her sanctuary, and let the flow of warm water from the spring below cascade around her. Maka watched the soft glow of the algae for a time before letting her eyes drift closed. She was in her aquatic form–it wasn't like she could drown.

She would not get to relax for long.

After a time, she heard a sharp intake of breath and, figuring her father had invaded her bathing time again, was about to open her eyes and tell him off when she heard a stranger's voice growl, "What the fuck?" in a language she only ever heard her father speak.

Her eyes flew open, her body taking a defensive position of its own accord as she saw a person treading water not two feet in front of her. A person with wild white hair plastered to his skull and menacing red eyes. He was scowling at her, too sharp teeth bared in threat. With years of martial arts training under her belt, her brain shrieked enemy and her hand flew behind her to grasp the nearest object–a rather thick tome–and hurl it with preternatural strength at her would be attacker.

The book slammed into his forehead with an accuracy wrought of honed muscles and desperation, and the odd man before her yelped in pain as the book sank into the water before him, clutching his poor assaulted head and swimming back several feet before turning his glare back on her. She caught sight of his long, gray tail as he swam and the realization that had not dawned with his use of a foreign tongue suddenly clicked into place with his newly growled, "Seriously, what the fuck?"

"I–" she blinked at him, surprised. She hadn't seen a merperson who wasn't her father since she was a small child, and she'd never seen one quite like this. "You're a merperson." She finally settled on, her use of her father's native tongue clumsy. She knew the language fluently–her father had taught her, spoken it with her since infancy–but she was rusty with long disuse.

"Yes, thank you Lady Obvious," he said with a sigh, running a hand through his drying white locks in exasperation. "We're merpeople–shocking revelation what with the tails and gills and all. That doesn't tell me why you're in my damned sanctuary assaulting me."

His tone was flat and angry, and Maka was having none of it–few merpeople as she'd encountered, she wasn't about to be told off by this one.

"Your sanctuary?" she said in his tongue, incredulous. "I've been coming here since I was a child! I don't know who you think you are, but–"

"Are you from Marina?" he cut her off, tone suddenly more cautious.

"Huh?" She furrowed her brow, shaking her head. She knew the name–it was where her father had come from, where he had taken her once and only once when she was a very small child. "I–" she shook her head again.

"Your accent is strange," he went on slowly. "And you don't look familiar–you're my age, or close, so I at least should have seen you at the rituals. Just who are you, anyway?"

His gaze was seeking, piercing, his eyes narrowed dangerously. She felt herself shrink a bit under the intensity of his stare.

"I'm–um–Maka."

"Ma-ka," he tested it, frowning. "That's a strange name."

"My mother gave it to me," she explained, though why she felt the need to explain anything to him was beyond her. "It was her grandmother's name."

His eyebrows shot up incredulously at that and she snapped out in irritation, slipping into English, "Yeah, because I'm sure you're name is so much better.

She realized her slip quickly, expecting a blank stare. Instead, there was something like realization dawning on his face and he swam just a little closer. "You speak English," he breathed almost reverently, his own English accented but intelligible.

"Well, yeah," she replied in English again with a slight nod. "I do."

"Where did you learn?" He swam closer, and his face had softened as he continued to speak her tongue. "You sound just like them, it's amazing."

"I–um–" she hedged. Telling this strange merperson the truth was unwise. Her father had always warned her to avoid his kind, that they wouldn't understand, that many hated those who were of both land and sea.

"And your hair is such an odd shade–"

"This coming from a guy with white hair," she grumbled, but he shrugged it off.

"Surely you recognized the shark blood," he waved a dismissive hand as he swam yet closer, only a foot between them now. "Maybe not common or well liked, but not unheard of. But you–"

"My Papa taught me," she cut him off, latching onto the last question,

He paused at that, eyeing her. "Who is he, then?"

"Spirit Albarn," she offered quickly, used to speaking his name in town to a dismissive eyeroll. She'd forgotten the name might have meaning among his kind, too, until his eyes widened in shock, his jaw dropping.

She'd forgotten her father's warning, that his name could be dangerous among his kind.

"You–you're–" he sputtered, his hand extended towards her.

"Look, I need to go. It's been great-Uh-talking, but–" she had begun to swim along the wall, trying to edge past him, shifting to speaking his tongue once more.

He shook his head. "Wait! You're–you're Spirit Albarn's daughter. You're human, aren't you!" He also relapsed into his native tongue. "At least that explains the weird human chest covering," he added under his breath.

She froze, shook her head vehemently, and flipped her tail out of the water, green and iridescent under the moss light.

"Okay, half human, I get it," he backed off a bit and spread his hands out in a gesture of supplication. "Don't worry–" he said mildly. "Not some half breed hater. Not gonna hurt you. Actually think it's really cool."

He sounded so genuinely enthusiastic at the last that it caught her off guard. She let out a held breath and stopped, facing him again. "It's actually the opposite of 'really cool,'" she said with a head shake. He was a stranger who had invaded her space and now–he thought he knew something about her life because he knew she was a half breed? He knew nothing. "You asked why I'm here. It's because I have to be." Her temper flared at his idiot presumption and she swam closer to him, inches away now, voice low. "If I don't swim in the ocean, I get sick and weak. And it would be the opposite if my Papa had taken me to live with his people. If I didn't spend time on the land, I would sicken." He was shaking his head, edging even closer. "Being a half breed is being cursed to be a part of neither world, forever bound to the shore where they meet. I hate it. I hate the sea."

He didn't back off, but met her gaze evenly.

"Me too," he said simply.

Her eyes widened and she was the one to back off. "But you're a–I mean–" she'd slipped into English again in her surprise.

"One of them?" he said angrily in his own tongue. "I don't wanna be. I wanna be human, walk the shore, see their cities, listen to their music. I hate being what I am–hate how they–" he cut himself off, eying her. "Doesn't matter. I just–I wish I could be like you and live in that world, even if it meant being stuck on the shore. Me, I'm just stuck in the sea."

He sounded almost defeated. Maka shook her head, confused, backing away to lean against the wall and give him space. "But you could live on shore if you really wanted–merpeople can change tail to legs–my Papa–"

"Has a rare gift. Most of us can only change during mating season. It's a rare few, those who carry the most pure blood, who can change at will–and most of them would never lower themselves to walk human cities. Your father is a pariah for what he did."

She wasn't sure which part to address first, it was so much information. She knew so little of the merworld, her father teaching her the tongue and telling her stories of his childhood, yet sharing little else.

"But I can change anythi–"

"You're half–" he waved a dismissive hand "–that's a given. But I can't change, even if I want to. Not without a mate–and I don't want a bloody mate–but even then, it would only be for a short time during the season. I want to be able to change for good."

"Even my Papa has to return to the sea," she said slowly.

"Yeah, but he can still live among the humans. You don't know how lucky you are. I've heard rumors there's a way–Stein even said it–but no one seems to know what, and I just–" he seemed to realize he was ranting because he cut himself short and sighed. "Anyway, it's not important." He shifted his language back to English. "So–you come here to bathe?" He drifted over towards her, settling against the wall beside her. "Because I come here nearly every Seventhnight and I've never seen you."

"Seventh–night?"

He nodded. "You know, like tonight?"

"So you come here–Fridays?"

" Yes!" He snapped his fingers in sudden realization. "That's what your people call it. Yeah, Friday nights."

"Well, that's why you never see me. I come Sundays, usually–but I had to–um–do something then this week, so I came early."

"Huh," he nodded. "So that's why my stuff gets shifted around so much. Sunday is-"

"Two days from now, but–" she eyed him sideways "–what do you mean, your stuff?"

"My stuff–" he gestured around him at the rock shelf above the water "–my collection. How did you think all this crap got here?"

"Um, from the sea? Like driftwood?"

He laughed at that, a long, low rumble. "Poseidon, you really are human, aren't you?" His laughter lasted a bit, and she tried not to blush. As it subsided, though, his eyes were trained on her thoughtfully. "What's it like, anyway?"

"What's–what like?" she asked, puzzled.

"Living on the land–being human. What's it like?"

"I–" she frowned. "I don't know, it's normal? I don't know a lot about–" she waved "–how you live, so I'm not sure how to compare it."

"I guess, maybe just–tell me about your life?" he asked hopefully, and he seemed so eager, she couldn't help it, she did.

She told him about how her Dad was a merman who could gain legs at will, how her Mom was a human, and how somehow as her Dad explored the human world, they met and fell in love and had her. He'd heard rumors of all that, of Spirit Albarn, noble and race traitor gone to live among the humans, he told her, but it was different hearing it from her.

She told him of her childhood on the shores of Oregon, of bathing with her parents in the salty sea, her human mother laughing at the antics of her strange, strange family. Of her mother leaving when she was so young and her father taking her to his people–the only time she'd been–and of their eyes, cold, uncaring, judgemental upon a child not yet six.

They hadn't stayed long.

"I do know a thing or two about what assholes my people can be," he grinned at her sharply, showing off rows of razor sharp teeth, speaking with his deep voice in the lilting tongue of his people. She found his voice entrancing, nearly hypnotizing. "Shark blood is–tolerated–but frowned upon."

"You keep saying this, shark blood, but I don't–"

She shook her head, confused.

"Doesn't matter," he said shortly. "Just–get to the human shit. I'm already pretty damned aware of the failings of my kind."

She looked at him sharply, unwilling to be treated so rudely by a stranger. "I honestly don't know why I'm talking to you at all, and if you're going to be rude–"

"Sorry, sorry–" he shifted to English, raised a placating hand again. "Just–keep going–please?"

"I–" and he looked so imploring, again, that she relented. What was it about him that had her sharing her life story this way when they'd only just met, when she never never shared it with anyone?

Then again, maybe it was because he wasn't human–because for once–for once–she actually could. There was an appeal to that, to being able to be so completely honest, a relief that she felt clear down to her soul.

Maybe this was as much for her as it was for him.

So she continued.

Maka told him about her life without her Mama, about school (he had so many questions about school,) about how her Papa had eventually turned to alcohol and the arms of other women to console him for the loss of the human he had fallen in love with. About turning to books herself to console her for the loss of both parents. About sparse postcards and even sparser phone calls, about her friends, her time in high school. About being stuck at a small local college, all other choices bared to her–about the frustrations of being bound to the sea and how she wanted nothing more to be away from it forever.

In short, she told him everything, and for his part, while he asked questions, mostly he just listened.

But she grew tired as the minutes wore on into hours, and as she spoke of her college life, she yawned deeply.

"You're–you're so lucky," he finally said into the quiet. "I know you don't think so, that you feel trapped, but–you are. You can have it all, land and sea. You can have both worlds."

"And yet," she smiled bitterly. "I belong to neither. Look–" she paused and frowned "–you know, actually, you never did give me your name."

"It's Soul," he said automatically.

"Soul," she tested it on her tongue and, somehow, it felt far more right than she would ever admit. "Well, Soul, I'm exhausted. It was nice to finally meet my cavemate, and I'll refrain from moving around your–collection–in the future, but I think this is where we part ways. Since this really isn't my normal bathing day, I should stay out of your hair."

She'd begun to swim as she talked, making her way to the mouth of the small grotto and he followed, frowning. Eventually, they were both back out in the night, the moon finally appearing amidst a break in the heavy clouds, casting a silver glow on her strange companion, on his hair of starlight and odd red eyes, that was both eerie and beautiful.

He was both eerie and beautiful.

"Well, I'll just be–going then," she said awkwardly as she swam over to the cliff face and grabbed the first rung of the ladder that hung down, willing her tail to re-form into legs. "And don't look," she hissed back at him, causing him to shake his head in confusion. "I don't have any–bottoms on."

"Bottoms?" He blinked at her.

"You know–" She gestured to her lower half and he rolled his eyes.

"You humans are so weird with your modesty shit," he grumbled, but made a show of averting his gaze.

"Anyway, Good luck with–life, I guess," she called down as she made it to the top of the cliff face. "Maybe I'll see you around sometime, but I doubt it. I really do prefer to bathe alone."

If she caught his murmured, "Yeah, maybe you will," from so far away, she didn't acknowledge it, simply turned her back to him to disappear into the night.