2020-08-02 - The Deep Blue Sea

One of the first things Alexander Clayton ever learned about Dr. Isabella Reede is the fact that diving isn't just required in her profession, it is a passion; an enthusiast in the activity from the time she was six years old, her possession of a master diver's certificate - indicative that she's crossed the threshold of more than a couple of hundred dives - is indicative enough as to how seriously she takes it. So it's probably not surprising that, before their trip to the underwater park, she's spent a couple of days preparing for it.

They set off during the day on her houseboat, when the sun is high, blazing and hot, and the prospect of diving into the crisp, cool waters of the Pacific becomes all the more a refreshing prospect. The West Coast doesn't boast much for humidity, but the summer heat is such that it does pull color up skin if one isn't careful, and so liberal amounts of biodegradable sunscreen should be applied to prevent any burns. Throughout the half-an-hour jaunt along the coast to get to it, the skies are blue, endless and clear, the breeze briny on the nose, and the humming of the double-catamaran's engines drowning out plenty of the seagulls' frenetic cawing as they streak across the heavens. During the trip there, they've managed to spot a pod of dolphins - hopefully they'll still be there on the way home.

She anchors off the perimeters of Edmonds Underwater Park, and drops anchor along with the boats that are already there, and proceeds to the back deck where she checks on their equipment. This is probably one of the few times where she enjoys the sweltering heat, because it will make their traverse into the water all the more necessary. Sleek, suntanned and clad in a modest dark blue bikini with bottoms that tie on the sides of her hips, her dark hair is up in that usual, fetching, windblown and she's crouched by their oxygen tanks, testing the instruments with critical, green-and-gold eyes. There are two-piece wetsuits laid out for them - indicative that Isabella probably only intends to don the top, but not the bottom. The heat pulls moisture from her skin, leaving a thin sheen on her complexion. This is probably the only time he would ever see her without her pendant or his dandelion bracelet, unwilling to lose both in the depths.

But she's clearly in her element - Isabella's coloring always suited her best during the high noon, and especially while doing what she loves. There's a smile on her rosy mouth as she checks the tanks, and the backup tanks, ensures that the weighting belts are calibrated properly to his body mass and hers. She's a long-legged whirlwind of activity in the back deck, her love for the sea and all of its bounty emanating from her in waves so expressive, even her formidable mental defenses are unable to buttress them within them, spooling out of her like ribbons of excitement and contentment.

Despite having lived most of his life on the coast, Alexander could not be said to be a man of the sea. Most of his adventures have been inland, and so he's not of much use on a boat. He tries, though; as the catamaran's journey commences, he helps out when she can easily explain something that needs to be done, and otherwise stays out of the expert's way. And watches her, with a warmth glowing in his eyes that he doesn't even try to hide.

He's dressed plainly - swimming trunks in a basic black, and a black t-shirt that he discarded once they were out on the water, revealing a physique that few people ever see on the investigator. He's surprisingly well-built along the shoulders and back, although his skin is crisscrossed with numerous small scars, and a few larger ones. He's paler than she is, and his hair is getting long, but he seems to enjoy the warm sun and sea spray with the unabashed pleasure of the sensualist he is when he's not being paranoid and anxious. His cuff with its stone and runes has been packed away to keep it safe from the sea salt and damp air, his wrists bare as he watches her, a solid, watchful presence in marked contrast to her whirlwind, his mind open to the joyful ribbons of energy she's giving off. He drinks it in, quiet and oriented on her to the exclusion of all else, even the sea.

"I don't know that I've ever seen you quite this happy," he murmurs.

She almost forgets what she's about to say when she turns around and there he is, watching her - and while it can't be said that he's built the way he is for the express purpose of developing muscle, the fact that he's been forged this way physically out of necessity (because he does things and hardly leads a sedentary life) does nothing but enhance his appeal in her eyes. Even after a year, she's still devastatingly attracted to him physically and for a moment or two, her throat closes up, unable to speak because she's busy admiring him and she doesn't even hide it.

"......yes you have," Isabella counters, finally, after clearing her throat, because of course she would, straightening up from her inspection of their equipment, looking up and over her shoulder to beam at him. "The first time we ran away together to Seattle. The first time you slept with me..." Her smile curls up higher as she ticks off her fingers. "The day you surprised me with your ice sculpture at the back of the house." The razor's edge of a more wicked look plays on her sunkissed mien. "The time you took me in your secret room...."

She is not Anne Washburn. She does not have a photographic memory, but memories of Alexander - the things he does, the things he says, the little things he presents her with, are all collected, catalogued and kept fresh in the expansive mental galleries of her. She flashes him a quick wink before she plucks the small rubber basin that holds their masks and moves it to the table bolted down on the deck. "Here, I'll show you a trick." She wiggles a small bottle of ocean-safe dish soap at him. "Scuba masks tend to fog up because of the difference in temperatures, and there's a trick to defog them while you're in the water, but I'm not about to teach you how to take off your mask and tilt to do that your first trip out. So we're going to cheat."

As Isabella lists off events, Alexander ducks his head, suddenly bashful, and a ruddy heat comes to his cheeks. "I, um." He clears his throat, and adjusts his swim trunks as memories dance behind his own eyes. "Granted, you seemed fairly happy. At the time. Yes." His grin has a touch of wicked to it, as well. "I should say that this is one of the few times I've seen you so purely in your element, while being so happy. You are you so completely. I love it. I love you."

And then she's going to show him a trick, so his eyes light up as he approaches the table. "I like learning how people cheat." He considers the glass and then the soap. "Soap? Isn't it already clean?" He pushes wayward hair out of his eyes and smiles at her.

Her grinning at him becomes all the more unabashed when Alexander's cheeks heat up, fanning the flames by the playful waggle of her eyebrows. Isabella twists a finger into the rubber strap of her scuba mask in the doing, and waits until his shadow falls across hers when he stands near her. She leans in, unable to help it, pressing her lips lightly on one of those blushing cheeks.

"I love you too. I hope you're not too nervous - bridging will help."

She reaches up to help him with his hair, brushing midnight curls away with light fingertips. "I'll give you a haircut once we're docked back home," she promises. "Or unless we decide to maroon ourselves here for the evening, I'll give you a quick trim." She flips the mask over until it gets to the inside of the fiberglass protectors, before she squirts the clear liquid into it, but doesn't rub it and lets its viscosity run over the glass instead. "Don't lather it," she instructs. "Just squirt it on and run it once and briefly on the water in the tub. It will act like an insulator and should prevent it from fogging even with the ambient heat from your skin and the cold in the water. And once we've prepared this, I'll teach you some hand signals and how to breathe through the regulator."

Alexander turns his head to capture her lips after that kiss on the cheek, and give her a longer, more lingering kiss, one that tastes like sun and salt. Even so, he does admit, "I'm...wary. Nervous. But I trust you. You won't let me drown, or get eaten by horrific submarine beasts." Then he laughs, softly. "Or give me a mohawk. Although there is an appeal to being marooned out here." He looks up and out, over the water, and his expression softens. "It's so quiet." He's not talking about outside, with the lapping of the waves and the thrum of the boat. "And, I admit. I have very fond memories of being with you on boats. In beds, on boats." He smiles, before attending to her instruction.

"That makes a lot of sense. It won't irritate my eyes?" It's idle curiosity - he's already following her directions, as precisely as he can. "Do we need hand signals? We can--" he taps his temple, and then reaches out to caress hers, in turn.

Electricity plays over her mouth when he turns his head and finds her own, leaping in sparks, webbing over her skin and twisting down her spine - almost enough to make her toes curl against the deck, but really, it's unfair how ridiculously he affects her with the simplest gesture. She returns the token enthusiastically, before they disengage and he's, of course, talking about being eaten by marine predators. "It's alright, even sharks aren't all that interested in humans while down there," she quips with a wink. "But I'll protect you, I promise."

His soft laugh brightens her expression, and his thoughts. "We can spend the night out here if you would like," she tells him softly. "Give this a break." Fingertips gently drift against his temple, easing another curl away. "It's been a while since we left everything behind together - I trust even just a few hours away from the city would do us both some good. It's not like I don't have food, or drink..." Another broad smile. "Or a very comfortable bed that's big enough for two."

She shakes her head. "No, the rubber guards that seal your face are thick enough that the glass won't even touch your eyes." She shows him, running a finger along the rim of her mask. And once that's done, at his touch, she turns her face further into his hand, smiling up at his taller form. "And I'd like to teach you, just in case. It's part of the half hour beginner course and anything can happen down there." She presses a light kiss on the heel of his palm, before leaning in to steal another, and another, joy imbued in each gentle, but passionate movement - she's absolutely thrilled that he's even willing to try, and it shows.

"Alright, Mr. Clayton. Moment of truth. You ready?"

"I put myself entirely in your protection, my heroine," Alexander says, and reaches for her hand to lift it to his mouth and lay a kiss on the knuckles. "But if I do get eaten by a shark, I will haunt you. And I wouldn't mind. Staying out for the evening. Things are a little crazy back in town, and it's been a while since we've been able to take some time for ourselves."

He considers, and nods. This part? He doesn't tease about. Instead, he's thoughtful and serious, even at the kisses. "I would like to learn from you, Isabella." Although when she mentions anything can happen, there's a flicker of apprehension, that frisson of nervousness he can't help but feel when talking about going into an environment where he can't control...anything at all. So there's no more protest about learning the signs. Instead, he meets her eyes, and nods.

"I stand ready, Dr. Reede."

She's only being realistic about the risks, though there's nothing but pleasure in her when he brushes that kiss on her knuckles - and soon enough, the moment he indicates that he is ready, she starts the course.

Isabella is an able enough instructor, indicative that she's done this hundreds of times. She shows him how to secure the weighting belt around his hips, and its purpose - to ensure that he stays in the water. She goes through the working parts of his vest and tank, including the spare regulator in case his first one accidentally slips out of his mouth - it's easier to simply grab it from his side because he knows where it is, instead of floundering to recapture and waste precious breathing time. She also shows him the basics on how to read his oxygen meter, and how to signal her when he's running low, and time to head up.

She is also very emphatic in that he shouldn't surface too quickly (otherwise, his lungs will explode - there's a scientific term for it, but she doesn't bother with it), and once it's time to resurface to do it in an angle and gradual climb as much as possible, but at the very least she doesn't inundate him with the dangers of nitrogen poisoning and delusions he can experience at the bottom - that's only on some very deep dives where oxygen is minimal, and she doesn't intend to dive that deeply with him today as he's not certified for it.

The archaeologist goes through the basic hand signals, which he can probably learn quickly due to his memory and intelligence, and the last step to round out the lesson is to teach him how to breathe through a regulator by using a spare tank. She shows him how to secure it in his mouth - to bite down gently, but not too hard, and straps his mask across his face. He'll find that a seal prevents him from breathing through his nose, which makes it a challenge as it is the most natural thing a person can do, so he must do it through the mouth via a regulator. She takes her time on this one, moreso than the other 'chapters' of her lesson, because this is the most important aspect for any beginner.

"In, and then out. Slowly," she says in an encouraging fashion once they get to it. "Just take as much time as you need until you're accustomed."

And Alexander is an excellent student - when he's able to muster the focus. Isabella is one of his favorite people, and all of this is as intriguing as it is terrifying, so he's quiet and intent on her words as she explains, and follows her through each piece as they're donned. His questions are minimal, but when they come, they show that he's paying attention and learning. There's a lurking fear in his eyes, particularly as she explains the dangers. The ocean is not a place he's very familiar with, and being out of his comfort zone? Always a source of stress and concern for the jumpy man.

But he learns. The signals, the breathing (although the seal causes a moment where his muscles seize up, desperate to fight something, to defend his breath from the encroachment, until he calms down), and he practices until he gets them both down. Only when he feels certain that he can remember the signals when he needs them, and when the breathing feels - not natural, but at least something that's got its own rhythm and comfort - does he nod to her.

"I've got it. I think." He glances at the water. "Diving, then?"

He never disappoints, when it comes to learning something new.

"Alright," she says, putting away the spare tank and grinning at him. "Let's suit up."

Isabella helps him with his own equipment - the top of his wetsuit is tight, and does nothing to really hide his battle-hewn musculature, and minutes pass where she's actually struggling to pay attention to what she's doing. But she does assist in zipping up the top, and he can decide whether to don the pants also - she doesn't intend to. Next, she straps his tank and vest to him, and shows him where the depressurizing switch is, in case he wants to sink further into the bottom. The flippers next, and it's only when he's perched on the side of the deck, ready to go in that she suits up herself. The mask is on her face, regulator clasped in her mouth, and she slips in next to him on the edge of the boat, before putting on her flippers.

There's one last thing to do, and she meets his eyes through her goggles. She taps her temple, and lowers her mental defenses, inviting him inside of her mind. The dragon and the guardian know him - these days, slipping into the tattered mindfields of her psyche is becoming easier and easier to him.

Alexander puts on the pants, although he admires the way she looks without them, and when she's focused...elsewhere, he draws a couple of fingers up her flank all the way to the line of her bikini, then under it. For just a moment, before he pulls his hand back and tries to look completely innocent.

The suit doesn't really hide a damned thing, so he completely fails in this endeavor. But he does pay attention to the tank and vest, grunting slightly as the unaccustomed weight settles against him. A flicker of that nervousness, again, before he pushes it down and attends to her. Once the flippers are on, though, he relaxes a little. Enough to laugh as he moves his feet in the air. "I feel like a duck," he tells her, before he likewise dons his mask and his regulator.

When she invites him, his mind is there, the link immediate and confident. And thrumming with pleasure - there's never a time when he doesn't love this moment between them, the bridge that links the tempest and the starscape, the guardian and the shining abyss. <<Hello, Isabella.>>

She lets him, of course, and even while her attention is focused elsewhere, his touch registers immediately and her only reaction is the way she meets his eyes, long lashes lidding over hers and the goosebumps that follow up his touch until it vanishes under that line. Her resultant expression is both reflective of subsumed allure as well as a warning - if he keeps this up, they might never make it to the water. Luckily, between the two of them, he is a bastion of physical control.

His laugh is as always a pleasant thing to hear and experience - he has a voice made for it, and her heart does an involuntary somersault when he kicks up his feet with his flippers. "You're much cuter than a duck," Isabella tells him, pressing her lips on his cheek and slipping the regulator back into her mouth.

It's like a surge of liquid fire, every time he invades her this way, and lashes flutter when he fills these broken spaces of her in the battlefields of the mind - his presence patches the holes that Isidore had left behind in his desperate bid to save her, and that welling sensation of completeness fuels the seat of her spirit and brightens the churning corona around her. His glassine stars spill through the broken skylight of that shattered library, bathes its interior with light and illuminates preciously held memories as spectral, rainbow ribbons of emotion and flame whip around his points. <<Alexander.>> She is a confident creature outward, and even moreso in this place, her internal voice decidedly feminine and characterized by a thrumming, innate sensuality that she normally only reserves for him and what they do together away from their friends and acquaintances. Her own pleasure fills him, but that is a given - she loves it when he's inside her, and not just physically.

Her hand reaches out to thread over his. <<Come with me.>> And then, she falls, taking him with her.

The initial splash passes them by in a flurry of bubbles until they subside and they're surrounded by a field of endless blue as expansive as the skies above them. An entire school of silvery fish breaks apart at their entry, swirling away from them like the scattered fragments of a broken mirror, frenetic movement fading almost as immediately as it starts before they're driving as a single unit again. Colors stand out even here; visibility today is incredible, and he'll be able to pick apart spots of vibrant color here and there - and all from the abundance of life teeming in the depths of the park - greens and violets and bright, unforgiving yellows and oranges. The Pacific is a living, breathing macrocosm of things not normally seen by the absolutely naked eye, and further below, he'd be able to glimpse arching shapes - but he won't be able to determine what they are just yet.

For that, they'll have to dive deeper.

<<That's a high compliment, Dr. Reede. Ducks are pretty damned cute>>, Alexander speaks without words. And projects an image of a roly-poly, feathery duck making a humorous 'quack' sound.

Alexander takes Isabella's hand without hesitation. It's the only person in the whole world for whom this is true. The only person who he trusts to never do him harm, who he would rather die than harm in turn. And so he falls, and in that moment, there's no hesitation and no fear. Only the falling, hand in hand, into the deep. Or, rather, a shallow portion of the deep. Connected as they are, she can feel what he feels, and he doesn't try to hide it from her.

Wonder. Fear, yes, but so much wonder as he takes his first look around as the undersea realm. He flails a bit, but he's an athletic person, and with Isabella's presence on his mind, he's able to fight his instinctive urge to panic, and instead he just awkwardly turns in a slow circle, watching. Watching everything. He reaches out for some of the fish, and although he doesn't smile, with that regulator in his mouth, but she can feel his delight. <<Isabella. It's beautiful.>>

There's a mental laugh, ribbons of mirth teasing his stars at the mental picture of the quacker he transmits to her. <<It's so fat it's almost delicious.>>

There's a squeeze of his hand when the stirrings of that initial panic bleeds over their link, but once Alexander's got his bearings, Isabella slowly eases her fingers away so he can move about, do a circle, and take a look at everything - this world that she loves, that so few people can truly get to see in this way, and she smiles when she takes in that wide-eyed expression, nevermind that she actually can't. Not with her regulator, but he can glimpse it in her eyes, and the pleasure thrumming through the bridge, bubbles frothing now and then from around her breathing apparatus. It doesn't come as frequently as hers, but that's understandable - she has mastered the art of breathing, holding and releasing already. Chances are, when their half an hour is up, she wouldn't have consumed even half her tank.

He gestures towards the fish, and they swirl away from his fingers in banners of reflective color. There are plenty of different kinds here - black fish, white fish, shapes and sizes as varied as the colors of their scales. They swirl around him in clouds, break away shyly when he tries to touch. <<I know it might kill you a little bit,>> comes her teasing. <<But try not to touch too many things. Once you've done this long enough, you can - once you learn what to watch out for.>>

His delight only amplifies her own, silver drops of excitement making themselves known in their shared mental space. <<You haven't seen anything yet.>> She promises, before beckoning him with a hand and she starts to move deeper into these cool, blue fields.

There are more fish, and three shapes. He'd find a small family of sea turtles drifting past him on the way down, their flippers adopting an easy glide across the blue, and past their domed shells is suddenly more color - pinks and whites and reds, this time, like flowers blossoming on the ocean floor adrift with white sand and strange protrusions. The landscape underneath is much like an alien garden, with living tubes sticking outwards, and coral so colorful they're almost iridescent, growing out of bits and pieces of debris. There are more arches here, left over by something, a cathedral of sorts covered with marine vegetation and contrasting sharply with virid, deep-green kelp. And past these thoroughfares isn't just a shipreck, but several.

Old ships - certainly not galleons from the golden age of sea exploration, but more recent ones from the past century or so, sunk to the bottom, half-eaten and used by the Pacific to construct these gardens. They still sport signs of how they met their end - by storms, or accidents, their artifacts strewn across the sandy ground and left there for coral to grow, and for fish and other life to swim around. When Isabella told him that the place is called Edmonds Underwater Park, he would suddenly discover that the last word isn't just hyperbole.

<<I don't want to hurt them. Or be poisoned, of course. But mostly, I don't want to hurt them,>> Alexander assures her through the link, even as he turns around and around, trying to see everything. There's still a hum of nervousness underneath the wonder, in the way his limbs don't quite move the way that he's used to. <<There's more?>> he asks, turning back to her in a flurry of bubbles.

He follows; slower, more unsure. It takes time to figure out just the right sort of movement so that he can follow her smoothly. And there are the distractions. The sights, the feel of water. The coral and turtles and all the beauty of deep. When the shipwrecks come into view, he stops. He can only stare. The link sings with curiosity, with amazement, with the urge to poke in every hole and discover every mystery that these things contain.

<<Were they brought here? Surely they didn't all just sink here. They must have been brought here. It's...it's a wonder, Isabella. A true Isabella.>>

They pass through these gardens and what Alexander has discovered as quiet above the surface is even moreso here - underneath, there is no sound save for vague noises by the churning of the water, and his own bubbles frothing from around his regulator. Save for his active psychic link and his eyes, the feel of the water soaking into his skin and stroking through his hair, his hearing is utterly deprived of any other distraction. It's like floating in a cool, soundless space, a different world on the verge of being explored under the depths.

Isabella's like a dolphin, or some neoprene-swathed mermaid with how she glides and cuts through the currents with ease, even corkscrewing sideways and kicking out her flippers so she can drift backwards and so she could look at him while doing so, arms tucked around her after that gradual barrel roll, her hair clouding around her face like something lustrous and alive. <<There used to be a port here, around a hundred or so years ago. Gone, now....some of the rigs were brought here when the park and protected zones were expanded and you can tell which ones they are because you can still see their shapes. But there are old ones, over a hundred years old, and you can barely see them under what covers them now.>> She gestures to one, a hulking shape at a distance, of a vessel that had sunk and buried itself at an angle. <<I call that one the Cathedral because it's so massive.>>

Her eyes dance as she looks at him. <<Want to swim through it?>>

Some of Alexander's unapologetic gawking falls upon Isabella. Her grace here is, clearly, rather breathtaking for the man. When he follows her, it's with a lot more flapping and wasted energy, but at least there's enthusiasm. He looks where she gestures, and his voice is like a warm wind in her mind. <<Over a hundred years. Down here. Amazing. And it's so...fish. I can hardly feel fish, you know. They don't have a lot, um, going on in their brains. But the turtles do. A little. And those dolphins. But it's not so painful. Not so conflicted. It's beautiful down here.>>

His regard turns on her, bright as the sun. <<You're even more beautiful down here. And yes. I'd love to.>>

Pleasure plucks at the strings of their link, awash with intense, fiery adoration to match the growing heat of her cheeks, even more felt against the cold of the water. Isabella's gleaming, laughing eyes find his through her goggles, and while she can't exactly smile, he'd be able to feel it. <<Are you trying to seduce me, Mr. Clayton?>> It's a teasing, sensuous ripple, spiced with mirth. <<Come on, this way.>>

They have to enter through the base, a wide opening carved out of the Cathedral from the bottom, and there's just enough room for people to swim in one at a time. Through the skeletal remains of the old ship, buttressed by decades and decades of sea growth, its shadowy confines reveal a grotto wrought out of decimated, salted metal, its ridges supporting shelves bursting with colorful coral and no small amount of barnacles. She definitely does not touch those - skin rips easily and she does give him a mental warning at her gradual swim upwards. While this grotto ought to be dark, the fact that the upper levels has caved in to reveal a large opening enable light to filter in - the Sun truly is an incredible celestial body, when its illumination can pierce through the topmost layers of the ocean so easily, and glints over the rustic treasures that clutter its floors.

Plenty of fish are here, and they swim outward when disturbed, but they move in a drifting, circular movement out of these hidden, secret spaces - more color, more life. As if mining the secrets of those that came before, and lives that were possibly ended here; one can easily get lost in places like these forever - it would be impossible of course, they can only breathe so long down here with the equipment they have, but it's easy to understand just why his companion loves the world down here so much...compared to the surface, life here is simpler, more peaceful. Dangerous, yes, but in a more straightforward and natural way.

<<I'm glad you're enjoying yourself...the way your everything just lights up when you're doing something new, immersing yourself in a new experience - I hope you know that I find it intensely attractive.>>

<<Only if loving the way you look and move is seduction, Dr. Reede. If it is, though? Then yes.>> He's unapologetic about that, teasing right back to her as he follows.

He hesitates at the opening to the Cathedral. Less out of fear - although that's still a slender thread in his thoughts, albeit suppressed by the sheer wonder of it all - than it is to try and memorize this space, this feeling. He tries to take a breath in by his noise out of instinct, and there's a momentary spike of panic when it doesn't work, and an explosion of bubbles as he struggles against the regulator. But he gets it under control, then drifts inside behind her.

<<This is amazing,>> he murmurs in her mind. <<Who wouldn't enjoy themselves? I've never seen anything quite like it, Isabella. It's a good place. A very good place.>>

<<Coming from you? It is.>>

She's shameless even here, at least, and she works her way in a circular pattern, also, following the way the fishes swim as they wind their way upward and outward of the large, ancient construct. She gestures for him to drift alongside her as she stops at a particularly long shelf; he'd sense her grin when she waves her hand in an effort to fire off a small current towards a series of sea-flowers decorating the shelves, and with Alexander watching, they react to the touch of disturbed water. The pink, white and red cluster blooms outward, as if attempting to grasp what it was that just touched them, before gradually closing again.

Isabella kicks off again - she doesn't so much as swim as she does float, and glide, slicing through the water like a blade as she moves upwards.

<<I'm glad you think so. Why is it that we can have these amazing psychic powers, but can't use them to breathe underwater indefinitely?>> It's a grouse, but one playfully made. Up, and up, and up they go until she slips out of the Cathedral from the top, pausing so she can look down and wait for him until he manages to worm his way out of the decimated shipwreck also. <<You look so peaceful here, also - calm. I'm glad for it, you've had a rough few weeks.>>

<<Mm. Well, then.>> Alexander sends her a picture of herself, bright and glowing in his mind's eye, swimming with infinite grace here in the down below - and without a stitch of clothes on. While he doesn't have an eidetic memory, he's got an excellent ability to visualize, and Isabella is one of his favorite visuals, so the picture is painted with loving detail, complete with ribbons of fish winding their way around her.

And then it fades away into amusement and warmth as she shows him the flowers. He waits until they're clothes before kicking forward and trying to do the same thing. Pleasure blooms with him as much as the flowers bloom in the water. <<How nice.>> But as she goes on, she can hear him laugh - it's even reflected in a plume of bubbles from his breather. <<If we could, we'd all turn into merfolk, and never be seen above water again.>> A pulse of agreement and worry at the state of things back in the Harbor. <<It's strange. And I feel almost bad for being relaxed. People are getting hurt. It's dangerous.>>

His voice turns wistful. <<But this is beautiful. And...I enjoy it. If it wasn't for people getting hurt. It's a wonderful mystery, back there. How to untangle that problem.>>

There is a long, long, long pause when she receives that mental image, before Isabella slowly circles around on the axis of one leg and flashes him a look that manages to promise several things that would probably scandalize any polite company if they elected to dive as a group. <<I love the way you think,>> she murmurs through their mental space, before flooding their link with those unsaid promises and the indication that she intends to go down the list one by one the moment they're able.

Even his mental laugh is pleasant, unable to hide - and nor is she really willing to - the warmth that teases their psychic bond as they swim through the rest of the garden, leaving the mysterious grotto behind and the beautiful reminder of tragedy it has turned into, and through the other archways and paths left behind by the other wrecks. <<Almost, but not quite?>> she quips. <<I know that people are getting hurt, but if you don't look after yourself now and then, you'd be of no good to anyone - and I wouldn't want to see you run ragged, either. Your mind works best with some rest, and some enjoyment.>> A smile turns in his direction. <<And plenty of me.>>

She reaches out once he drifts close, brushing her hand gently along his arm, up over his shoulder, and cupping his face gently once it gets close to his cheek - she had warned him from touching anything underneath the waves, but here she has no qualms touching him. <<We can return whenever you like, but try not to think about the case for a while. You need this just as much as I do.>>

Alexander's laughter fills the link between them at the long pause - although it chokes off with flattering swiftness when she returns fire with those mental images. His voice becomes strained. <<These pants...very tight.>> Swimming is now problematic, but there's no regret in him, just...a little bit of pain, and a lot of anticipation.

<<Almost, but not quite,>> he agrees, quietly. <<I could never feel bad when with you.>> He's getting a bit more comfortable underwater, and he turns as best as he can into her touch, although he needs his arms to keep from drifting one direction or the other, with his relatively untutored kicks. <<I'm very distracted from the case. Right now. I promise.>> He has a flood of warmth through the link, then a pulse of curiosity. <<Where's your favorite place here in this park?>>

<<See what I mean?>> asks Isabella, laughter in her tone. <<Why I'm so mindful about the sugar? I have to wear this stuff constantly, I'd never forgive myself if I didn't look good in it because it highlights every flaw...>>

Her favorite? She gesture for him to follow. <<This way.>>

It takes a bit to swim to, but it's on the other side of the park, where it actually looks like a rainforest submerged in water, with kelp as tall as trees swaying with the currents, and filled with the same bands of vibrant color that grow from the debris placed there. Unlike the rest of the park, this is more landscaped (seascaped?) - but the work put in it is absolutely breathtaking, each sea 'hedge' of coral and seaweed spilling forth waves of fish and various marine life. There are more turtles here, that can be spotted drifting through the waves - and while Isabella loves everything about the sea, the fact that she absolutely loves turtles is probably where her biases are rooted. There are small ones and big ones playing around this part of the park.

<<Well, it's not so surprising, is it?>> the archaeologist asks with a laugh. <<You know how much I love turtles.>>

<<I like to think that what it's currently highlighting isn't a FLAW, exactly,>> Alexander says with a hint of playful self-mockery, <<but I see your point. Although you would look beautiful in it regardless. It's the way you move, as much as how you look. Grace, confidence, power. Very sexy.>>

He kicks after her, and uses the journey as a chance to practice his strokes. And sight-see. A couple of times he wanders, distracted, from the path, following some small school of fish, or stopping to watch some bright coral. But he does get there, with her, despite the myriad wonders. And expels another cloud of bubbles in surprise as the sight. <<It's like a forest.>> His voice has an edge of joy, of awe. <<I've seen television. But it's different, being right here. Seeing it.>> He can't resist reaching out a hand to a massive piece of kelp - he doesn't touch it, but his fingers hover near it, feeling the currents that flow around the leaves.

Then a laugh as he picks out the many turtles. <<Yes. And these are magnificent. Would you like one to visit you?>> He gives her a sidelong look, the offer to ensnare one with his abilities clearly on the table, but left to her. Sometimes people get weird about mind controlling their favorite animals.

For SOME reason.

<<...if this is a ploy to get me to look at it...>> A long pause. <<...damn. It worked. I swear to god, you're going to get it when we get back to the houseboat.>> If it's a threat, it's very playfully made, when Isabella squints at him that way. Laughter trickles down their link, as bright as fireworks.

<<It is.>> She seems to take unapologetic relish in how awed and enthusiastic his mental voice sounds, smiling as she kicks back around and drifts backwards to watch him look around him. Like a boy unleashed in Candyland - there are many who think that murder and crime are the only things that would plant that look of utter fascination on his face. If they only saw him now.

But the offer? She laughs. <<I would love to. I don't think I've ever seen you call one to you before. Let's see it.>> She's just as enthusiastic about getting a turtle to visit her as she is with the prospect of watching Alexander coaxing one to do it, and the idea of hurting the creature doesn't even register - it's Alexander. He loves animals, he would never hurt them - especially not ones as gentle as turtles.

<<Mm. I do love knowing you're a woman of her word,>> Alexander teases right back in return. And even behind the concealing mask, he does look...younger. More open, and less defensive down here. Perhaps it's because of the view, or simply the fact that - aside from her beloved mind - there's very few heavy, mental presences pressing down on him right now.

And he lights up when she accepts the offer; a part of him is always, still, convinced that people will recoil from his abilities, and the terrible things that he can do, if he desires. So he closes his eyes for a moment, determined that this will be good for Isabella, a fitting reward for her trust in him. He reaches out, and she can feel the pulse of his mind, slipping through the water, snaring not one turtle, but a whole family, then two. It's not a rigid control; he shares with her what he does, just soothing their natural and healthy wariness of man, and tempting them close with pulses of curiosity and acceptance. For a moment, the turtles and Isabella are all of one family, and they swirl around her, leathery limbs waving gently through the water, small turtles playing around her feet.

Even if she touches them, they display no fear or distress; in this moment, she is known and loved, as much as Alexander knows her, and loves her.

His mental maneuverings fill her with warmth, his soothing emotions radiating outward like sonar pulses, to call that small family of turtles towards her. Isabella's never actually seen this power active before, and she observes this with all the intense curiosity of not just an academic, but a young woman that will forever be interested in what her companion does. And she isn't disappointed.

<<You called so many!>> This time, it's her who sounds delighted, a small laugh escaping her mental sphere as she does her best not to touch them - her fingers follow the line of a drifting shell, the other a flipper, but much like him, she doesn't dare touch the creatures in these depths. She tilts down, just a little bit, to observe the baby turtles as they play and drift over the sand. <<Oh, Alexander, they're so adorable. Thank you so much!>> He'd feel it, this urge to scoop one one of the smaller ones just to see what it would feel like, to have it swimming around her palms. But she doesn't. They're at peace here.

Time moves past quickly when one is exploring - through the 'rainforest' and its turtles (what she's now calling 'turtle forest'), she takes him through the arches where the bright, multi-colored sea-blooms look like cherry blossoms in the deep, and through the other, less impressive shipwrecks, but no less beautiful for their sizes. They find an eel, greenish-yellow with emerald striations, slithering through the coral. But they take their time indulging in the sights of this vast alien world, with Isabella explaining as much as she can with what happens beneath, tending to his questions as best that she's able. True to her passion, she speaks like a confident authority on the subject.

She gestures for him to examine his gauge and once the needle slips towards the red perimeter, she signals that it's time to go up. And so they do, up to where they've anchored The Surprise. Removing her mask, she turns to look at him, her resultant smile bright enough to be a direct competition of the mid-afternoon sun. She reaches out to unfold the metal ladder to ease their passage back to the vessel, clambering up first and after shedding her vest and the weight (and tanks feel absolutely heavy when they get out of the water), she reaches out to assist him.

<<Well?>> She doesn't seem to realize they don't need the link, when he's nestled so comfortably in her mind. <<What do you think? Was it fun?>>

<<Their minds aren't very strong, or suspicious. I think they like people, or would if we weren't so scary,>> Alexander says in return. He watches her play with them, and glows with happiness at her delight. He's careful to not interfere with them overmuch, and gently guides them back into the kelp before releasing his hold, so that they don't panic at their closeness to her.

And then? The two of them explore. His confidence and efficiency grow over time, although he's still prone to wasteful streams of bubbles, and periods of distraction. He has about a thousand questions, about the park, its inhabitants and wrecks, but also about her previous experiences with diving, and what she enjoys, where she's been - some of them he's asked before, but he has more context for the experiences now, and his questions sharpen accordingly.

And then they head back to the surface. There's a wistful sorrow, but also a hint of relief, by the time they break the surface. The physical effort involved is deceptively high, and he's exhausted when he climbs up behind her, and his mouth is aching from the unaccustomed pressure from the breather and mask. He takes them off with her help, and answers in the same fashion, <<It was amazing. I can see, now, why it calls to you. I will dream of water. And it won't, I think, be a bad dream. Thank you, Isabella, for sharing it with me.>>

He reaches out to pull her close, when their equipment is stowed and adds, "We smell like seawater."

<<My mother used to tell me that when she was alive,> Isabella tells him once their equipment is stowed; water is deceptive, and once neoprene is peeled off their bodies and left on the deck to dry, she rolls her shoulders back in an attempt to rid herself of the tension. Everything feels liquid, and heavy, but it's the exhaustion that comes from very good exercise, and the gradual fight against ocean pressure several feet below depths. <<That all Reedes dream of water. Even when I was away from here, I would have them - these very vivid dreams about the waters here. I resisted for the longest time, but now I'm glad for it...to be back.>> She turns to look at him over her shoulder once she's rid herself of her wetsuit top, flicking her wet topknot sideways, a long lock of hair curling on a bare shoulder mottled with the glistening drops of the Pacific, glinting under the sun like rough-cut diamonds. <<Even if you'd rather I be safe and outside of its strangeness.>>

There's no resistance in her when she's pulled close to him, skin-to-skin; the sea breeze is cooling her rapidly, leaving goosebumps, but his warmth smoothes them out again. Slender arms curl around his broad shoulders, tilting her face back so she can meet his eyes and smiles. "Mmhm," she murmurs, lips nuzzling teasingly along his jawline and right into the ever-present scruff she finds there. "We do, but it's not so bad, is it?" The smile he glimpses when she eases her head away is a mischievous thing. "It reminds me of summers by the beach and now it's just going to remind me of how all of this looks like while you peel a wetsuit off of your body. I'm batting a thousand here, Alexander."

And now, a darker note to his mental touch - worry. Not just for current events, but for the strangeness in her head from the Vivisectionist, and more, just the GRAY HARBORness of where they are, and it's likely, eventual effect on the world. On Isabella. He presses his lips into her hair, and never mind the salt stinging his lips, or the marine taste of her. <<I do wish you were safe. I won't try to drive you away. I'm not that strong. Or that stupid. But I do wish you were safe.>>

He nuzzles his bristly jaw against the softer skin of her face, returning her affection with enthusiasm. "It's not so bad. And I'm glad to create some good memories for you." His eyes go half-lidded. "Hopefully not just some. But we can start with that. Work our way up from there."

<<Yes, but I don't want to be.>> Isabella's lips quirk upwards. <<I'll be alright, I promise.>>

It never fails to tickle, choking back a laugh when his coarser bristles gently rub against her, arms squeezing slightly tighter around his shoulders. "Time spent with you almost always is, and even if they're tense, I wouldn't trade them for anything." Watching his gaze half-lid, her fingers reach up while she remains in the circle of his arms, tugging his zipper down slowly.

"Deal," she tells him softly with a smile. "And didn't I tell you earlier? I like the way you think."

<<I know. It makes you immensely frustrating.>>

And it's not all teasing. There's that urge in Alexander, that comes clearly down the link, to hide her away, to protect her, whether she wants to be or not. Stronger now, even, after Peregrine, after the prison, after the brain anomalies. But her promise holds him back, makes him kiss her. <<I know. I'm holding you to that.>>

And then he relaxes, pushing the worries to one side, for a moment. "I like the way YOU think. As it happens. I seem to recall a series of promises made. Very vivid promises." He starts tugging her towards the cabin, and wriggling out of skin-tight swimwear along the way. No one tell him how much wetsuits cost.

He calls her frustrating and what he gets is a very blithe, very winsome smile. <<That only makes us perfect for each other,>> she trills softly, teasingly, through their mental link.

She feels it, that ridiculously protective urge; instead of being offended by it, however, it only encourages another intense, fiery wave of affection only marginally mirrored by the way she kisses him back - the only way he knows is their active connection, and Isabella savors that too, sinking into the gesture he so willingly provides. It banishes the chill away more effectively than pressing herself up against wet, rubbery fabric.

But then he doesn't waste any time, does he? Isabella laughs as she's tugged towards the cabin, nearly tripping over the clothes he sheds on the way. No, she doesn't tell him, but once the door closes, she's throwing her arms around those impressive shoulders, and kissing him as if the world's about to end tomorrow.

It's always the way she kisses him when they're alone, but after an afternoon diving, with him in her head and adrenaline from their explorations still coursing through her system, it all catalyzes in an ardent conflagration of wants and needs she's not about to deny herself. And besides, it's been a while since they've spent time in the houseboat, and she recalls dents on the mattress that could stand to be reminded of the shapes of its present occupants.