Work Text:
Peter was warm. Wherever he was, he was pleasantly warm, like he’d been sitting on the beach on a spring day. He blinked, mind foggy as he registered the sand beneath his fingers, the folded piece of cloth underneath his head and the one draped over him.
Fire. A careful distance away, a small campfire was burning. His boots were next to it, and his coat and hat were airing on a rock close by. Peter shifted. Pain seared through his side. He touched it and found that it’d been bandaged with scraps of fabric, along with his arm. His temples throbbed.
Waves splashed. He sat up slowly. He was in a cave, on a higher platform of sand and rocks, away from the sea that was lapping at its sides. It was so filled with bits and bobs, it looked like a pawnbroker’s or an antiquarian’s haven. There was a large hole at the centre of the roof, and smaller holes circled it like the moon and stars.
Peter touched his face. His mask had gone, and his mouth scarf had been taken off and laid beside him. His identity was compromised. His saviour – or perhaps captor – had seen his full face. He looked around for any signs of who might have brought him there.
Peter Parker, also known as Captain Sea Spider, the Robin-Hood of pirates, had now found himself mysteriously alive after being knocked overboard twice. The first time had been when the Osborn Company ship he’d been infiltrating had been attacked. He’d been forced to jump from the burning vessel. He’d awoken on a beach, seemingly having been washed ashore. He and Mary Jane, his first mate, had later debated whether it could’ve been dolphins, or perhaps, mermaids.
‘Maybe it was Johnny,’ Mary Jane had teased him.
Peter had groaned and said, ‘I hope not. If I have any luck, she’ll be a real beauty. And less annoying. Besides, if it had been Johnny, we would know. He wouldn’t have stopped boasting about it, the showboat.’
Peter was sure Johnny Storm was the reason sailors knew about the existence of merfolk. He would position himself on various rocks, combing his golden waves, admiring himself in his shell mirror, and worst of all, singing at obnoxiously loud volumes for all to hear. Much to Peter’s chagrin, his rocks of choice seemed often to coincide with Peter’s ship’s course. Johnny could be helpful sometimes – he and his family often gave Peter information and lost treasure – but for the most part, Peter wished to steer clear of the ridiculous blond.
Peter tried to remember the events that led up to him lying there on the cave floor. Captain Kraven the Hunter and his crew had attacked his ship. They’d been overwhelmed, and he’d formulated a plan, putting his crew into action, as he’d tried to secure their escape. He’d swung between the rigging, positioning each of the sails. He’d just landed once more in front of the wheel when one of Kraven’s cannonballs had landed in the sea next to the ship, rocking it and sending Peter flying. Nothing was clear after he’d hit the water.
He moved to touch his chin and winced, abruptly remembering he’d been sliced in that arm. Luckily, it wasn’t through his chest as Kraven had been aiming for. The arm had been haphazardly bandaged in scraps of clean-looking linen.
There was an open bottle of rum and cloth next to him. The sting of his wounds implied it had been used to clean them. That and the campfire suggested to him that it hadn’t been dolphins or mermaids.
Perhaps it had been Captain Kraven, seizing the opportunity of Peter being flung overboard to revive him long enough to enact his torturous revenge.
What had happened after his unfortunate plunge? What had become of his crew?
His thoughts were beginning to spiral like a vortex, when there was a frantic splash in the water.
He wasn’t alone.
Whoever his saviour was had hidden behind a rock the moment they’d noticed he was awake. Gritting his teeth through the pain, he attempted to crawl closer to the edge to look. ‘Wait,’ he called. ‘Don’t go. Just who are you?’
No response. Peter reached for his dagger.
‘If you’re here to hurt me, don’t be shy. Come out, come out, so I can slit your throat. If you’re not here to hurt me, what’s the harm in revealing yourself?’
A figure swam out from behind the rock. There, in all his golden-haired, golden-tailed glory, was a familiar merman.
Johnny Storm looked more sheepish and mortified than Peter had ever seen him. He hadn’t even looked bothered the first time Peter had saved him from a fishing boat (he’d batted his eyelashes scandalously at the pirate captain as he’d unravelled him from the net and lowered him back into the ocean), yet being revealed as Peter’s rescuer was what shook him. Peter almost wanted to laugh. But he was too stunned.
‘Johnny?’
The merman inched closer. ‘Surprise. I’m not a beautiful mermaid – sorry to disappoint.’
At least Peter didn’t have to worry about his identity being compromised. There’d been no hiding it from someone as inescapable as Johnny. Besides, merfolk didn’t abide by the laws of the land. It wasn’t as if Johnny could hand him over to the authorities.
‘It was you?’ Peter asked.
Johnny rolled his eyes. ‘Did you hit your head too?’
‘I don’t – what? Why didn’t you tell me it was you?’
‘Had better things to do, Parker. If you’re okay on your own, I think I’ll go. Your crew should be on the island soon, just outside the cave.’ He pointed to a gap in the rocky wall behind Peter. ‘Everyone’s fine, don’t worry. Your plan worked a charm.’
He began to swim away, golden tail shimmering in the daylight as it moved. Peter watched his for a moment, listening to the sound of him retreating: swoosh, splash. Swoosh, splash. Swoosh, splash.
‘Johnny, wait.’
The merman paused, but wouldn’t look back at him.
‘Why’d you do it?’
Johnny whipped around, scowling. ‘Why wouldn’t I? I know you think little of me, but I wouldn’t leave you to drown. You’re welcome, by the way.’
Peter ran a hand through his hair. ‘No, that isn’t what I meant. God, Johnny. Let me just – thank you, okay? Thanks for saving me. Just – I’m missing some pieces.’ He picked up the bottle of rum and brandished it at Johnny. ‘How’d you know how to do this? And how’d you manage the fire?’
Johnny shrugged. He swam back towards him, slow, tentative, as if he thought Peter was still deciding if he was going to need his dagger or not.
Peter didn’t know what to do with that. He supposed he had put his sword to Johnny’s throat the first time he’d given him information, but that had only been because he’d snuck up on him.
Peter had been rowing towards Osborn’s yacht on a grey, muggy evening, when fingers had emerged from the sea and gripped the side of his boat. He’d instinctively unsheathed his rapier. He’d pressed the blade against the intruder’s throat, before realising who it’d been.
‘Careful, pretty boy,’ he’d said, voice low. ‘You almost lost your vocal chords, and then what would you do with your time?’ He’d titled Johnny’s chin up with the tip of the blade. ‘What d’you want?’
Johnny had appeared unphased, other than the rosy tint creeping into his cheeks. ‘I wanted to warn you,’ he’d said.
‘About what?’
The dark clouds had rumbled.
‘Osborn. He’s not on the ship. There’s no new musket model. The whole unveiling’s a ruse, to cover up a plot against Walrus. Osborn hired Fancy Dan to kill him, but he may not stop there. Thought you should be prepared. Maybe you can stop any unnecessary bloodshed, too.’
‘And you know this how?’
He’d fluttered his lashes, smug smile tugging at his lips. ‘My natural charm and allure. That combined with the spinelessness of Osborn’s coopers. Makes it easy to get information.’
Peter had moved a stray curl from Johnny’s forehead with his rapier – a warning he’d had no intention of following through. Johnny’s eyes had tracked the movement. ‘And how do I know you’re not lying – that you’re not working for them?’
Johnny had held his gaze, face fierce. ‘You’ll just have to trust me.’
‘What’s in it for you, Storm? Why help me instead of them? Osborn has more assets to buy your loyalty.’
Rain had begun to drip onto the boat and spit into the sea. One had landed on Johnny’s freckled nose. ‘I saw you help that little boy. That crabber’s son stuck on his boat during a storm. You didn’t have to jump onboard and steer it to safety, but you did. I didn’t have to tell you about this, but I am.’
Peter had sheathed his sword after that, and that had been the end of the conversation. Johnny had been right, of course. It had largely been because Peter had been on guard that he and the passengers had escaped unscathed. He’d put a bullet through Fancy Dan’s skull the moment Walrus had dropped dead, and in the chaos, he’d made his retreat.
Peter put his dagger back in its scabbard, a peace offering.
Johnny indicated to the bottle of rum. ‘Reed told me humans often use that stuff to clean wounds,’ he answered. ‘I have a few bottles of it from shipwrecks. Reed knows a lot about land dwellers. He wants to do an expedition to the surface – explore and document the land, understand it. Alicia’s happy to look after Franklin, Reed just needs to find a way to change our tails temporarily.’
Peter nodded. The expedition sounded dangerous, but he knew very little about underwater life, and there was that note of wonder in his voice, that thirst for knowledge. Any judgement from him would be hypocritical.
‘And the fire?’ he prompted.
Johnny held up a finger. A flame appeared, hovering above his fingertip. His eyes reflected the flickering light. Peter started, but leant forwards to examine the flame.
‘Mer thing,’ Johnny said. ‘All my family can do something. Obviously, it functions differently underwater – it’s kind of like I’m an underwater volcano, you know? Usually boils things and stuff. When I first saw humans with their fires, I figured I could do that too. Just never tried it till now.’
‘Huh. Maybe I should start calling you Flamebrain instead of Bubblebrain.’
‘Whatever,’ he huffed, but there was a faint smile on his face.
Peter wrung out his scarf and held it over the fire. ‘You’re pretty resourceful, Storm,’ he mused. ‘As in, you’re a literal natural resource. A renewable energy source. Thanks. For saving me, and for making sure I didn’t bleed out or freeze to death.’
Johnny thrust his hands out towards Peter’s coat and hat. Steam rose from them as he used his powers to dry them off. He seemed pleased with himself, as if a first time experiment had gone better than expected. ‘Well,’ he said, ‘I was just returning the favour. You’ve saved me a couple of times.’
‘You already did return the favour – we were already even from the last time I saved you.’
Peter thought back to that second time he’d saved Johnny. He’d been fresh off the boat in Smuggler’s Cove, when he’d looked over at a dogger sailing into port, and saw a flash of a long, glittering tail caught in its net.
Peter’s heart had been crashing, thrashing against his ribcage as he dived into the water. He’d propelled himself towards the net. There had been Johnny. He’d been trying to claw his way out of the trawler net, eyes wide with panic, bubbles streaming from his mouth. But Merfolk couldn’t cry.
When he’d noticed Peter, he’d stilled. He’d been cradling something close to his chest. His blond hair had floated around him. Sunlight had shone through the waves and decorated his tail.
Peter had held his breath and swallowed his fear. He’d cut away the net with his dagger. The process had been made difficult by the weightlessness of being underwater, the slowness it’d given to his usually agile limbs. After he’d cut enough of the net to fit Johnny through, he’d pulled the merman free.
They’d broke the surface, Peter panting. He’d yanked his scarf down over his chin.
‘What the hell were you doing?’ he’d gasped.
Johnny had held up a bearded seal pup; its round, shiny eyes had blinked at Peter. In any other circumstance, it might’ve been adorable. ‘Puppy got caught in the net,’ he’d said. ‘I was trying to get him out.’ As he’d said this, an adult bearded seal had swum up beside them and nudged the baby. ‘He’s okay, Lockjaw.’ Johnny had scratched both of their heads in turn.
Peter had pushed his wet hair out of his eyes. ‘How’d that work out for you, pretty boy?’
Johnny had narrowed his eyes. ‘Thank you for your help, Captain Spider. We’re fine now.’ He’d pointed out four shapes swimming towards them. ‘Look, there’s my family.’ He’d waved his arms at them, grinning. ‘Frankie, buddy, your Uncle Johnny just saved Puppy!’
‘Keep telling yourself that, Bubblebrain.’
Johnny’s family had reached them.
Sue lightly smacked the back of Johnny’s head, silver tail flailing in agitation. ‘Jonathan Storm,’ she’d chastised and pulled him into her arms, ‘what were you thinking?’
Ben had slapped Peter on the back. ‘Thanks fer savin’ the squirt, junior,’ he’d said in his gravelly voice.
Harry and Flash had arrived at the scene in a rowboat, and had promptly yanked Peter out of the water. Harry had muttered his disapproval.
Before they’d rowed to shore, Johnny had turned back to Peter, beaming. The sun had lit up his hair from behind. Sun glitter had sparkled above where his tail had been swaying. ‘Thanks again.’
It was only when Peter had been back on his ship, he’d checked his pockets and there’d been no sign of Uncle Ben’s compass.
That’s what came of Peter’s selfless acts of heroism. One of his most prized possessions had been lost in exchange for a senseless merman and his seal.
Hours later, he’d been standing languishing at the docks when Johnny had emerged from the darkness. He’d drifted over to him. The moon had framed his head like an aureole, and its reflection had glimmered in the waves. It had doused his skin in pearly light – his bare torso, the lines of his swimmer’s muscles, his ethereal visage.
His hand had reached out of the sea. There in his palm, had been Uncle Ben’s compass.
‘I heard how upset you were about losing this,’ he’d said quietly. ‘And since you lost it rescuing me, I went looking for it.’
Peter had reached over the side of the wharf and took it from him, fingers brushing his. ‘Thanks,’ he’d said. ‘I thought I’d never see again.’
Johnny’s hand had lingered next to his a moment, before he’d withdrew it into the ocean. ‘Well, I couldn’t have that now, could I?’ He’d leant his arms on the wooden boards of the wharf and rest his chin on his hands. ‘So, I’m curious. Why’s it so important to you?’
Peter had sat down in front of Johnny, legs dangling over the water. He’d watched as waves washed over the pilings. ‘It was my uncle’s. He was killed by Captain Octopus’ crew when I was fifteen. And it was all my fault.’
He’d the remembered clearly in that moment: Uncle Ben’s bloody body dumped next to his fishing boat. He’d remembered the weight of the pirate’s stolen treasure in his pockets. Aunt May had been sick, and Peter hadn’t known what else to do. He’d only made matters worse.
Johnny’s tail had swished. ‘Pretty sure it was the pirates’ fault.’
‘You don’t get it. If hadn’t – ’
‘I get that you made guilt your, like, kraken, and let it follow you around.’ Johnny had looked up, thoughtful. ‘Actually, I do understand you a lot more now. Why you do what you do… Doesn’t mean you should take responsibility for other people’s actions, though.’
‘But it is my responsibility – something you don’t understand –’
Johnny’s eyes had flashed, burning hot with anger. ‘Something I don’t understand, huh? If only. Well you got your thing – compass – back anyway.’ He’d begun to swim away.
‘Johnny, wait,’ Peter had called after him, and he’d stopped, back to him. ‘Look, thank you for getting it back for me. Really.’
Johnny had shook his head. ‘Don’t mention it.’ His eyes had looked like the ocean and the sky, as they’d met Peter’s once more. ‘I get it. You know, my mom died when I was a small fry. And my dad was killed by loan sharks not long after that. I mean, Sue says he was pretty terrible, but it was hard. She had to raise me.’ He’d stared out towards the dusky waves. ‘The ocean’s a big place.’
Something in Peter’s chest had tugged at Johnny’s words, at the raw pain in his expression. He’d never imagined Johnny experiencing that kind of darkness, not with his frivolity and the carefree attitude he presented to the world. He’d thought life below the surface must have been easy, instead of mirroring the cruelty of the world above.
Peter had nodded, a lump in his throat. ‘Yeah, it can be…lonely.’
Johnny had pointed to the compass. ‘So, how’s that work, anyhow?’
Peter had flipped open the lid. Johnny had bent forwards to get a better look – so close Peter had felt his breath on his skin. Peter had pointed to the magnet needle. ‘That,’ he’d explained, ‘is magnetic. It’s attracted to the world’s North Pole, so it moves in alignment with its magnetic field.’
‘So you always know where north is? Kind of like holding the stars in the palms of your hands.’
Peter had watched Johnny’s face as he’d said this; he’d had the North Star twinkling in his eyes in that moment. He’d seen something of himself reflected there that he’d never expected to see in Johnny: the wonderment, the curiosity, the want to know more.
‘You know,’ Peter had begun, closing the compass, ‘I wanted to become a scientist. Not much left of that dream now, but looting private libraries has its perks – I’m as studied as I might have been under a tutor.’
‘A scientist? You should swap notes with Reed one day.’ He’d tapped the wood of the compass, and looked up at Peter through his lashes. ‘Magnets…’
Peter hadn’t known what to make of the feelings in his chest. ‘Opposite poles attract.’
Johnny frowned, flicking the sea with his hand. ‘Don’t know if returning a lost item makes us even…’ He took Peter’s scarf from him. It began steaming.
Peter shrugged his freshly-dried coat back on. ‘What is this place, by the way?’ he asked. ‘And what’s with all this junk?’
He gestured around the cave. Parts of the walls jutted out to form natural shelves, lined with random trinkets – jewellery, clothing, rigging, a waggon wheel, a small humanoid automaton, some unrecognisable merfolk gadgets. Wooden barrels were filled with more curios. The one closest to Peter contained a parachute. There was a stone slab close to the edge of the shore functioning as a table. Tools covered it.
Johnny swung his arm out dramatically. ‘Welcome to my palace. My workshop. My treasure trove. Whatever floats your boat.’
Peter raised his eyebrows. ‘Your workshop for what – primping? Not as many mirrors as I’d expect, Storm.’
Johnny rolled his eyes. ‘I build carriages, and fix them up. I’m always looking for ways to make them faster, sturdier, more streamline – sometimes you land dwellers have the right stuff for it.’ He shuffled onto the bank, reaching for a baroque jewellery box on the nearest shelf. He tossed it around in his hands. ‘Sometimes, things are just pretty and…different.’
‘I didn’t know you had a job.’
He didn’t entirely mean it as a jibe. He often forgot that Johnny had an entirely separate life under the sea that Peter wasn’t privy to. He hadn’t imagined Johnny knuckling down and tinkering away at an engineering project, but there was that inquisitiveness in his eyes again, and Peter wondered how he’d been so oblivious. Suddenly, he wanted to know more. There was an ache in his chest at his separation from that part of Johnny’s world.
Johnny’s tail slapped the waves, spraying Peter. ‘Nice, Peter. I don’t sit on rocks brushing my hair all day.’
‘Didn’t know merfolk had carriages, either. ’
‘There’s a lot you don’t know, Captain Sea Spider.’
Peter smirked. ‘Nah, there’s actually not that much. Can you reach all that stuff?’
‘The tide often comes further in. Not all the way, obviously, or I wouldn’t have brought you here.’
‘Why did you bring me here?’
Johnny shrugged. ‘It was close by. Safe. Knew I could get your crew to the island.’ He opened a seaweed bag he had over his neck, and reached into it. ‘You hungry?’ He produced a handful of oranges, and tossed them at Peter, who caught them one by one. ‘Heard these are good for land dwellers’ teeth.’
Peter laughed. ‘Yeah, yeah, they help stop scurvy.’ He started peeling one. ‘Where’d you get ‘em?’
‘What’s left of Kravinoff’s ship.’
Peter glanced up, brows furrowing. ‘What is left of it? And his crew?’
Johnny examined his sharp nails, apathetic. ‘Don’t know. Wasn’t really our problem, right? Ships sink.’
‘We were your problem.’ Peter popped a slice of orange in his mouth, its tangy flavour melting on his tongue.
‘Of course. But those guys are bad news – up to the ocean to decide their fate.’
Sometimes, Johnny said things that made Peter remember he wasn’t human. Peter didn’t have the morals of an average, upstanding citizens, but Johnny was normally so sweet that that kind of indifference could only be attributed to merfolk nature and nurture.
Johnny watched Peter as he ate, curious.
Peter held the orange out to him. ‘Want to try it? That’s if you can actually eat it, I mean.’
‘No clue, but I don’t see why I not. Only one way to find out.’
Peter pulled off a segment and held it in front of the merman’s mouth. He bit into it, fearless.
‘Good?’
Johnny nodded, face lighting up. Juice dripped down his chin. Peter studied the drops, the bits of pulp. Before he could stop himself, he reached towards him. Gently, he wiped the juice away, catching a stray bead at the corner of his mouth. Johnny met his eyes, face colouring.
Peter had a sudden recollection, possibly from the earlier accident: mind swimming as he’d ran out of air, out of energy, beneath the waves. Hands had cupped his face, lips had pressed against his as oxygen had been breathed into his lungs.
Was he remembering that right? He stared at Johnny’s pink, pink mouth, lustrous as the pearls he wore round his neck and biceps. He traced those lips with his thumb. The orange rind fell onto the sand.
Instincts won.
Peter slipped his hand to the nape of Johnny’s neck, and closed the space between them. Johnny’s eyes widened, before Peter tugged him into a kiss. The merman sighed and kissed him back, mouth warm and wet, tongue tasting of citrus and brine. He wound his arms around Peter’s neck. Cold drops of water ran down Peter’s spine.
It hit him like an oar, just how stupid he’d been. This was how he felt about Johnny – how he’d felt at Smuggler’s Cove that night.
His hands trailed down the merman’s muscular arms, his lithe torso. They came to rest where his waist met his tail. The contrast between rough, slippery scales beneath his palms and smooth skin beneath his fingertips was a new sensation, but not an unpleasant one.
Peter didn’t let his hands drift further down, lest he inadvertently pushed it further than either of them was ready for. He didn’t know much about merman anatomy, but he suddenly longed to know more. That likely wasn’t the time the time or the place.
Peter pulled Johnny further onto the landing, lowering him towards the sandy floor. He pressed his lips to his damp forehead, cheek. The water was chilly, but Johnny was hot as a summer day spent in the crow’s nest. Peter kissed behind his ear. He mouthed down his neck, teeth catching on skin; Johnny’s breath caught in his throat.
He dragged his lips over his gills, the cluster of gilt scales around them. Johnny’s pulse was like the water lapping at the cave floor, ebbing and flowing against his mouth.
‘Peter,’ Johnny breathed; Peter felt its resonance. Johnny’s hands found his hair. His long, sharp nails grazed his scalp.
Peter lifted calico scallop on the merman’s necklace, and he nipped at the skin underneath it.
‘I…’ Johnny sighed, ‘love…you.’
Peter stopped. He pulled back to stare at him. Storm was the right name for him – he had eyes like an ocean storm, fair lashes like daylight shining through clouds. Freckles dusted his nose and cheeks.
‘I…I didn’t mean that,’ Johnny said. ‘Heat of the moment.’
Peter’s thumb caressed his cheek, brows furrowing. ‘You didn’t?’
Johnny cast his gaze downwards. ‘I know what you think of me. Obnoxious. Gets in the way. I…went to check on you after I saved you the first time, and heard you and Mary Jane. Hate to give you that much credit, but you, uh, broke my heart a little.’
Guilt wringed Peter’s insides. He’d put that expression on Johnny’s face. Johnny had given him his heart, and he’d been ignorant, careless with it. He’d treated him like pyrite instead of real gold.
He traced his frown. ‘Johnny, I was wrong. I’m sorry. You saved me – twice – and I’ve been an asshole –’
‘Yeah, it’s kinda your thing.’
Peter cupped his face in his hands. ‘Hey, I’m trying to be nice here, Blondie. Why do you, uh…love me if you think I’m the worst?’
Johnny burrowed his head in Peter’s shoulder. ‘Ugh. I don’t – you’re good. You know I think you’re the best, Pete. You save people, give back to the poor and helpless. You try and stop these other pirates and those corrupt trading companies. You even fight the navy and come out on top. My life’s been... it’s been like a hurricane half the time.’ He lifted his head again. ‘I want to be around someone like that – someone like you.’
Peter rested his forehead against Johnny’s. ‘Someone like that… Johnny, you’re the sun. And sure, maybe you’re as obnoxious as I am an asshole, but you’re also brave and kind. It may have been a stupid thing to do, but you dove headfirst into a trawler net to save that pup. You saved me.’
‘You saved me, stupid.’ He twirled the hair at the nap of Peter’s neck between his fingers.
‘And aren’t I glad about that,’ Peter smiled, cradling his face in his hands.
Johnny kissed his left palm.
There was a faint noise coming from outside the cave. Peter strained to hear it. It sounded like a familiar voice calling his name. Mary Jane?
Johnny looked at the cave exit, and back at Peter. ‘Sounds like your search party’s here. Think you can make it?’
Peter pulled on his boots. He heaved himself to his feet. ‘Think so.’ He picked his hat up and donned it. ‘Can’t believe you rescued this.’
‘It’s not like you’d buy a new one.’ When Peter didn’t move, he splashed water at him. ‘Go, Pete. Go find your crew. You need proper medical care and clean clothes. And however you humans wash yourselves.’
‘A bath?’
‘Sure. That.’ He shooed him away.
Peter obeyed and walked towards the exit. As he reached the gap, he turned to behold Johnny one last time. Sunbeams spilled through the holes in the cave roof and dappled him with light. His eyes were the same blue as the water. Peter wanted to keep staring at the soft look in them, the coral colour dusting his cheeks, the smile he clearly wanted to hide but couldn’t stop from breaking out on his face. That expression that was all for Peter.
Peter stumbled back over to him and kissed him, deep, unwavering. Johnny laughed against his mouth and kissed him back.
Peter brushed damp curls from Johnny’s forehead. ‘Come and find me tomorrow morning. I want to show you around the ship.’
‘And how will you do that, Captain?’
Peter brushed their noses together. ‘I have ideas. You’ll come?’
Johnny pecked his lips. ‘Idiot. Of course I’ll come.’
Peter grinned, and kissed him once more, before hobbling out of the cave.
When he found his crew, he’d not managed to wipe the saccharine smile off his face. He clutched Mary Jane for support. They wandered towards the rowboats. There was his ship on the ocean ahead, still intact. Its blue and red flag waved in the breeze.
Mary Jane observed him carefully. ‘Kiss your mermaid, Tiger?’ she asked.
‘It was Johnny,’ Peter admitted.
Mary Jane’s eyes widened, and she smacked his shoulder. ‘I knew it! Didn’t I tell you? Oh, it’s no fair! You always get to have all the fun! Do you think mermaid marriage is void on land? Because Sue looks like –’
Peter cut in, partly to spare himself from hearing anything uncouth said about his future sister-in-law, ‘Don’t let Gwendy hear you finish that sentence, Red, or you’ll break her heart.’
His first mate looked disbelieving, as if Peter hadn’t watched the two women pine for each other every day from opposite ends of his ship. ‘Ha! Sure I would. You enjoy yourself, Mr. P, but don’t do anything little old Mary Jane wouldn’t do.’
As the ship came closer into view, Peter noticed four tiny silhouettes next to it.
‘Yeah,’ he breathed, gaze fixed on the shapes, ‘I think I will.’