Chapter Text
Aziraphale could not recall a time when the sky wasn't a sombre shade of grey. Even as the final remnants of summer warmth faded into the dull, muted autumn hues, the clouds seemed to linger in their melancholic state. Aziraphale often playfully blamed living in Wales for the perpetually overcast weather. The sky this particular morning was a dismal, unyielding shade of grey that seemed to mock the rising sun's attempts to brighten it. An unseasonably cold wind whips up the white-toped waves that crash against the side of his little trawler, gently rocking side to side.
The breezes blew through the stitches in Aziraphale's cabled Aran jumper, sending shivers down his spine. In many ways, he was unprepared for the hardships of his new life.
The small, weather-beaten trawler chugged its way through the choppy, grey waters of the Irish Sea, heading towards its designated fishing spot northwest of Aberdaron. White-capped waves and black-headed gulls as far as the eye could see. A scene of serene emptiness, a world of its own. Aziraphale began his daily routine, fully aware that today would be another disappointing day for fishing. Once again, his ageing trawler net had torn, and he would have to spend hours repairing it. When he had first mended the net using biodegradable threads, the locals had ridiculed his unconventional approach. Months had passed since then, and he had only managed to prove how unconventional he truly was. Nevertheless, he remained steadfast in his determination, stubbornly clinging to the right path, even those that had been wrong in hindsight.
Aziraphale set anchor, set his co-ordants, double-checked his GPS, and alerted the various port authorities of his locations, boat regs, and licenses. There was a surprising amount of paperwork, he didn't mind, really. It was oddly reassuring to know that someone else knew where he was and would come looking for him if he didn't check-in. Aziraphale focused on setting up his fishing rods, bate, and equipment, trying to avoid the nagging thought that it might only be the Coast Guard who came looking if he did go missing. Nobody had looked for him yet, and a boat in the Irish Sea was about as lost as one could possibly get (without losing control and actually being lost themselves).
He cast his lines, locking the rods into their holders before settling himself to repair the worn nets. He had always been good with his hands, years of crafts like knitting and crochet had finally come in handy. The Aran jumper he’d knitted himself years back was the only thing keeping him warm, and his inventive use of crochet stitches kept his nets together. He was glad he hadn't taken his parents' disapproval to heart.
Fishing had not been his initial career choice. In an alternate life, he would have delighted in running a quaint bookshop surrounded by the smell of aged paper and the promise of cosy nights with endless surplices of reading material. He longed to make a difference and positively impact other people's lives. Yet, the prospect of dealing with people, loud noises and crowds was daunting, and his own emotional burdens made reaching out to others exhausting. He found peace in the ways of the sea, close to the small fishing villages he visited without having to belong.
The tranquillity of his morning was abruptly shattered by the unexpected lurching of something substantial hoisting itself onto the boat. A cacophony of splashes and otherworldly, frenzied wails overwhelmed the previously silent surroundings. Aziraphale staggered, struggling to maintain balance as the craft lurched erratically due to the uneven weight distribution.
The beast, for it, was like nothing the poor fisherman had ever seen before. Rithed in panic and pain. Nets, ropes and even rubbish clung to its damp scales, cut into its flesh and curling tendrils of frade rope tied it by the throat.
Aziraphale felt the swell of adrenaline course through his body; his head throbbed, and he could hear his heart racing in his ears. He was scared and nauseous, but he felt better than he had in months. His body reacted before his mind had even begun to comprehend this being in front of him. He threw himself through the door of his cabin and rummaged through the utensil drawer, pulling out a pair of scissors. The rope around the beast's neck, though clearly uncomfortable, wasn't strangling it, so Aziraphale started at the tale. Aziraphale knelt across the beast's flailing tail in a hold not dissimilar to the one his father had tort him for sheep shearing. Sternly telling the beast to sit still and let him work.
Aziraphale began cutting away the ropes and debris and chucking them into the boat's empty hull. Talking to the beast as he went, his first aid training had kicked in. He wasn't sure which was more disconcerting: his training telling him his back was exposed or his inability to work out what this being was. His brain couldn’t quite settle on what the beast was, and the harder he looked, the harder his head throbbed like he was looking upon something he shouldn't be seeing. His therapist had told him not to hold on to things when they hurt, so he stopped trying. It was a fellow denizen of the sea who needed his help, and that was enough.
The creature's tail resembled that of an eel, with two lengthy fins on either side and a seemingly endless length, giving the impression that it could coil up like a snake. Its tail was adorned with soft, smooth black scales that shone iridescent colours under sunlight. The well-defined muscles propelled the tail with force, causing Aziraphale to grip on tighter than he would have liked to maintain his balance. He methodically worked his way up its body, removing the rubbish and inspecting wounds. He calmly talked throughout the whole process, throwing out compliments and encouragements and explaining his actions. He knew the chances of the beast understanding him were slim, but if nothing else, it made him feel better.
The creature gradually relaxed as he worked, realising that he meant no harm. In response, Aziraphale eased his grip and carefully shifted his weight away from the creature. The process of clearing away the debris was painstakingly slow. Progressing up the creature's body, he almost convinced himself that it was a colossal eel until he came upon its almost human hands: long elegant fingers with a lighter colour webbing between and long claw-like nails. It was a mermaid, or perhaps a merman, or even a merperson. Aziraphale wasn't quite sure how to process this discovery, so he pushed it aside, focusing on the task at hand, as he always did.
The merbeing's scales were predominantly black, except for the ones around its face, palms, and along its slender chest, which was a pale tan colour, almost skin coloured. Its long, fiery red hair framed an almost human face. Aziraphale diligently concentrated on his work, no matter how terrifyingly attractive the merman was. He kept his gAziraphalee lowered. His bushcraft training had taught him that maintaining eye contact with wild animals could be perceived as threatening. The creature lay motionless; its striking amber eyes watched him with unease, seemingly piercing into Aziraphale's very soul. Aziraphale tried to make a lighthearted compliment, but his mouth was dry. He never had the confidence to chat up handsome men, and this was possibly the most handsome man-shaped being he had ever seen.
No matter how long the rest of the job took, he was still unprepared to face the merbeast's gAziraphalee. The ropes around its neck were the thickest and most problematic to remove. He tried to untangle them, but the knots were fused.
'I am going to cut you free now,' Aziraphale announced before carefully angling the scissors. The beast edged away. Nobody likes having sharp objects near their neck, especially if you don't really know the person wielding them. Aziraphale smiled his most calm and understanding smile. 'These are scissors', he showed the beast. 'The insides are sharp', he cut at a loose bit of rope. 'The outsides are blunt', he stabbed at his hand with the rounded end of the closed scissors. 'I need you to be brave and stay still for me', Aziraphale announced in his most professional nurse's voice. He leaned in and positioned the scissors. The beast didn’t move, but its face contorted to terrified discomfort.
One final agonising, sawing snip, and it was over.
'That is you done, my dear,' Aziraphale said, sitting down heavily and sighing.
The merman led still for what felt like an eternity, eyes locked on Aziraphale, clearly trying to control their breathing. Their expression matched his own confusion, as far as Aziraphale could tell. He was clearly proving to be as much an anomaly among men as this merperson was among fish. It slowly reached up to touch its neck, massaging the rope burn, which was coming up in big welts across the paler and clearly soft parts of their scales. Or was it skin? Even from just this distance, it was hard to tell. With one elegant move, they pulled themselves upright and wiped their tail around into a coil. There was a moment of indecision on whether to make themselves look big and intimidating or to curl up small and cower. Aziraphale made an effort to be as non-threatening as possible, curling up small and looking anywhere but the beast. Aziraphale hadn’t had much luck with that in the past. It had something to do with his build. Granted, he recently lost a lot of muscle and gained some weight. He could only hope it was enough to save him from being ripped apart by an otherworldly, incredibly handsome snake-fish-man being.
Moments passed, and nothing happened. Aziraphale waited even longer before he risked a glance at the Merbeing. They acknowledged Aziraphale’s look but made no response. They were far too busy checking over their wounds. The friction from the ropes caused most of the damage, but some cuts and abrasions must have come from sharp plastic rubbish Aziraphale had removed.
'I can help with that', Aziraphale offered. The merbeast looked intrigued, letting its head fall to one side like a confused puppy.
'I have a First Aid kit in the cab,' he said slowly, getting to his feet. He would have said it was for the beast's benefit, but his stiff bones felt his age. 'It will fix you right up,' he announced, carefully picking his way across the deck as steadily as the rowling seas would allow. He began thinking aloud about what would make the best sea-proof bandage as he searched his cabin.
He need not bother as the beast was gone by the time he’d returned, and so were his scissors.
'Leaving me to clear up the mess, I see.' he laughed.
With the surge of adrenaline and the profound relief of staying alive, he felt a weight lift off his shoulders. He felt the warm glow of the sun on his face and happiness in his heart, the satisfaction of a job well done and the glow of goodwill of doing something kind for another. However, a peculiar emptiness crept in, acknowledging the slim chances of ever crossing paths with that mesmerising person again. He realised that actively pursuing any further interaction with them would likely lead to more harm than good for both parties involved.