Work Text:
"It's late. I can't stay."
Abe didn't know what to make of it, or even what to make of him. Ben Daimio's harsh, mutilated, leather-worn face revealed nothing as he got up to get dressed.
“You don’t have to go,” Abe said.
“I do,” Ben said, as he walked out the door without even a glance over his shoulder.
***
It started innocently enough.
Although it was still quite early, Abe Sapien once again had difficulties settling in for the night. He sat down at the end of the day, to reflect in the diary he kept. Unable to write, unable to lift the state of gray that consumed him, he tried to read. That, too, brought no comfort to him. Even music could not settle his nerves.
He wandered out to find some company in one of the common rooms. He hoped to find someone to spend his time with, or other agents to talk with. There was no one.
As he turned back towards his quarters, he heard the commotion down the hall. He recognized it for what it was - the hurried voices of agents anxious to return to the Bureau for Paranormal Research and Defense Headquarters. It was the same commotion all the time – of equipment being returned to storage facilities, or the cackle of agents talking about whatever mission they had just completed.
This time, he recognized the harsh voice of Ben Daimio, barking out orders to some subordinate.
Although Daimio wasn’t the friendliest agent at the BPRD, he had his moments. Once, Abe even got to hear the story of how Ben Daimio had died in the jungles of Bolivia, and came back to life three days later. Certainly, there were things that he kept to himself – like how he could transform into a Were-Jaguar every night, if he didn’t prevent them with forbidden treatment…
That time, sharing thoughts of life and death with his colleagues… it seemed to be the sort of camaraderie he needed right about now.
He listened closely, to hear what Daimio was saying. Although it was spoken at a distance, Abe figured out where he was headed.
***
As far as Daimio could recall, Abe Sapien had never bothered to shower in the communal locker room.
Yet, there he was, naked in the shower.
Daimio couldn’t look at Abe as he approached the wall of showerheads.
“Abe,” Daimio simply said, as an acknowledgment.
Abe turned his head, just a few degrees, and nodded back at Ben. Daimio, noticing the nod through the corner of his eye, turned to look at Abe.
When he did, he could not help but look.
Honestly, he wasn't sure what to expect. After all, what does the anatomy of a merman – or whatever the hell Abe was - look like? Was he a man, in that particular way?
It's not that Abe was effeminate. Far from it. But his affinity for water, and his ability to move freely under water, resulted in a tranquil and calm appearance. Daimio thought that maybe he was like a coral reef – striking, appealing, and beautiful underwater, with an appearance of fragility. Yet like a sharp coral, Abe could be dangerous; one touch could easily slice through flesh, to the bone.
When he turned to look, what he saw were droplets of water pouring down on Abe’s head, then down along the ridges of gills along his neck, before they bounced onto his broad, muscular shoulders. Abe was facing away, exposing only his back, his shoulders, his buttocks.
Daimio was both relieved and disappointed.
He slammed his hand against the faucet to turn the shower on. He grabbed a bar of soap, and began to roughly scrub away the dirt and filth of the week’s mission.
***
Abe sat on the edge of his bed. His encounter with Daimio in the shower surprised him. He had, for those few minutes, felt an unusual sense of exhibitionism. Had Daimio said that he was heading for the coffee room, would he have rushed ahead to meet him? Would he have played the game of hide and seek in the same way?
A moment later, Abe felt a second surprise – a knock at the door.
At Abe’s invitation, Daimio came in. He looked around his quarters. As he suspected, a large tank loomed next to his bed.
“So, tell me. Couldn’t you have just taken a regular old swim in that thing?” Daimio grumbled, pointing to the tank.
“I wanted a change of pace,” Abe replied, without missing a beat. He wasn’t willing to be backed up against the wall. Not in his own quarters. “Why? Is the shower off limits?”
Daimio smirked, as best he could with his deformed face. He didn’t look Abe in the eye. Instead, he looked around the room.
Ben was hard. Not just in terms of his physical appearance, or the scarring on his face. He was also hard to get to know. And it was clear that he liked it that way.
As he surveyed the room, he noticed Abe’s desk. An open journal, and an old antique photo of a woman caught his eye. He took the liberty of approaching the desk, and picked up the photo.
“Your wife?”
Abe simply nodded, not willing to expand more. Instead, he volleyed the question back to Daimio.
“You?”
“I’m a career man,” he grumbled, as he put the photo back down.
Abe was surprised, a third time that night, by what Daimio said after that.
“Kind of sucks. Always being alone.”
Abe approached his fellow agent, and slapped him on the back. It was his way of saying, without so many words, that they were all alone, in this boat, together. A shipload of beings -all deformed, transformed, paranormal.
Daimio nodded, and put his arm around Abe’s shoulder, then slapped his friend’s chest two times. Rough and tumble, that was as affectionate as this Marine was going to get.
Neither of the men had to say another word. A pat on the chest became a friendly slap on the shoulders. A slap on the shoulders became a punch in the arm. A punch in the arm became a squeeze of the shoulder. A squeeze, a massage… a massage, a brushing of hands across chins… a brush, a caress down the ridge of a gill… a caress, a gentle kiss against scar tissue…
As rough as Daimio was, it was Abe who took the lead.
And Daimio’s suspicions were correct. Like sharp coral, this creature of the sea could easily cut through flesh, and yet still appear serene. Abe moved like liquid, and Daimio could almost feel himself drowning; he struggled for few quick gasps for air, then surrendered to the all encompassing warmth of the waters above.
***
As much as he hated to say it, Ben Daimio felt the words slip past his lips.
"It's late. I can't stay."
“You don’t have to go,” Abe said.
“I do,” Ben said. Abe wouldn’t understand until much later: his leaving wasn’t about guilt. It wasn’t even about self-hate.
Daimio was, in fact, terrified of his own transformation.