( continues...) was staring up at the sky. After a moment she shook her head.

"It's too strong! We couldn't even clear a path, it's swirling about too much!"

Klaus cursed and staggered away. Emma could faintly hear him shouting about bilge-pumps. After a moment Regina grabbed her shoulder and pointed. Peering through the spray, Emma spotted Jan hauling on a rope with the sailors, trying to keep the ship pointed into the wind. The two of them began making their way over the deck. Just as they reached him, the ship pitched wildly to one side, then seemed to drop away like it had fallen over a cliff.

An instant later the deck leaped up and smashed into them. Half-stunned by the impact, Emma heard a deep, horrible cracking noise from beneath her, and the ship seemed to lurch and spin wildly. After a second, Regina staggered over to Jan and hauled him to his feet. She could tell Regina was shouting something, but between the storm and the ringing in her head she couldn't make out a word.

As she climbed painfully to her feet and lurched towards them, Regina pushed him away. He stared at her a moment, then turned and made his way across the deck. Regina grabbed onto a rope still secured to one of the masts, then grabbed Emma's arm.

"I've sent him to get his bags, and ours out of the cabin!"

"What!? Where are we going to go?!"

"No time! You have to do this before he gets back! Cup your hands in front of you, and let the magic flow down into them!"

Emma stared at her a moment, then hooked the rope under one arm and stretched out her arms. After a second, she could feel power flowing down and gathering between them.

Good. Emma could feel Regina's mind touch hers. Now this. A compact, interwoven pattern appeared. Concentrate on how you want to help the crew.

Emma took a breath and focused, trying to draw the energy into the pattern Regina showed her, and keep the urgency of the crew's need in her mind. After a moment, the construct in her hands began pulling her magic into itself, drawing on her concern and need to help. She opened her eyes and stared; there in her hands was a gleaming, spinning knot of light, glowing stronger and whirling faster until-

It burst like a fountain, sending streamers of light into the air. The storm seemed to pause as the light split and split again, ribbons fragmenting to sparks, motes of light that settled on the crew, outlining them briefly in a white shimmer. The sailors stared around, wondering if this meant salvation-

And the storm closed back in with an almost audible slam, wind and wave lashing the hull. The crew seemed to shudder in unison, then resumed the desperate struggle for the ship.

Emma staggered and swung back around to face Regina. "What was that !"

"A good-luck charm."

There was a pause. " What !!"

"It's all we can do at this point!"

"She's right!" Emma jerked around to see Jan had rejoined them, bags slung over both shoulders. "The keel is broken, the ship's past saving!"

She stared at him, then at Regina again. "What do we do!"

Regina grabbed Jan by the hand and dragged him toward the rail. "Grab that rope and pull yourself up!" She waited, then hauled herself up beside him and reached back. "Emma, come on!"

Emma stared for a second, then grabbed hold and leaped to balance precariously on the rail. "Now what!"

"Wait for the ship to swing back this way, then jump!"

"WHAT!"

Jan gaped at her. "We'd never survive on that sea!"

"Not on it, no!" The ship lurched over, the sea rushing up towards them. "Now!" She leaped forward, dragging the other two with her. Emma managed to get out half a scream, then take half a breath, before the icy water smashed across her face.

There was a dizzying rush as Regina's magic swept through her. Her vision seemed to clear abruptly, and the noise of the storm above took on a strange texture, echoing and sharp at once. As Regina pulled them deeper, she could feel the water flowing over her; her skin was alive with it, from the (continued...)

( continues...) top of her head to the tips of her tailfins-

Emma let out a muffled yell as what she was feeling sank in. She yanked loose from Regina's hand and stared down at herself. What what what! There was a weird ordinariness to it; the smooth skin of her stomach just gave way to a sparkling column of scales. Instead of legs, she could feel a single length of muscle tapering down; the sense of the water flowing over her fins told her there was a weak current pushing on her, and she instinctively flexed her tail ( My tail!) to hold herself against it. "Regina, what the- "

Belatedly, it occurred to her she was shouting, and breathing, underwater. She floated for a second, managing not to clap a clearly unnecessary hand over her mouth, and took a slow, experimental breath. The water flowed smoothly down her windpipe(?) and then out again. She took a second breath, then turned back to Regina and felt her jaw actually drop.

She'd been expecting to see the other woman in mermaid drag; instead she was wearing a strapless black gown, out of which emerged not legs or a tail but a set of long, muscular tentacles. Emma stared, not quite believing what she was seeing. Not that she didn't recognize it; one thing you could always count on finding in a foster home was a stack of Disney movies to try and keep the kids quiet. "...Ursula?"

"No, Regina." She scowled. "Didn't your mother tell you about this?"

"Must...have slipped her mind." Emma stared, then focused past her at Jan, who was now a red-tailed merman, all his clothes gone except his sword and belt. He was staring down at himself, apparently still stunned. Yeah, I know the- waitaminute. She glanced down at herself. Huh. Seashell bra. Figures. "Didn't you get impaled by a ship?"

"No." Regina rolled her eyes. "Are we really going to have this conversation? Shall I go over the real reasons I wanted your mother dead?"

"No thanks." Emma scowled, and looked past her. "Jan, you okay?"

He blinked. "I...think so? Oh...can we do anything for..." he looked up and trailed off.

Emma followed his gaze, and realized the ship had vanished. The surface above them showed only flashes of lightning-lit sky.

"Carried off by the surface currents already." Regina sounded thoughtful. "But the wind was driving them south towards shore, if we head that way we may be able to help the survivors."

Emma gave her a puzzled look. "Sounds good to me."

"Let's get moving, then." Regina headed off, swimming with strong strokes of her tentacles. "This is King Triton's territory, and I'm technically still under sentence of death."

"What for?" Jan asked, startled.

"Impersonating a sea goddess."

TBC

I'm going to ask directly for feedback on this one:

First, as the content note shows, this chapter deals, if obliquely, with a somewhat sensitive subject; Any comments on how I handled it would be appreciated.

Second, I keep thinking I should end the chapter with them jumping into the ocean as a cliffhanger. Any opinions on if that would work better?

Thanks, guys.

chrismg, you have done a fine job of managing a sensitive topic without getting drenched in it. It rang true to this survivor without being dreadfully triggery. (Someone of a different temperment, at a different point in their journey to wholeness might have a different feeling, particularly if unwarned. So yes, I do think the warning is valuable, but also yes I do not think you will be engaging your readers in boatloads of unnecessary pain.) About where your chapter should be divided up, well, it feels fine as is - but once the whole thing is complete, you may well wish to rearrange things for pacing or what-have-you. That could well be a weakness of the practice of posting whatever chunk the author has written at any given time as a chapter in places like FFN. Going back with a fine editor's eye just has so little chance to happen. And it futzes with notifications to readers.

I wish there was an easy way to tell where traffic on AO3 comes from. One of the single-chapter stories I have posted there has five times the number of hits of my next most popular fic, which has seventeen chapters. It's not my best piece and it isn't the smuttiest thing I've ever written. Simply Googling for fic recs mentioning it isn't coming up with anything. And really, the difference in number of hits is vastly out of line with any rec I've had on any other story. Mysterious.

Heaven help me, I think I'm writing another Mentalist fic.

I wrote my first slash ever. It's Dragon Age Inquisition, Dorian/Iron Bull, and I'm inordinately pleased with myself for having written it.

Err, remember that "Life On Mars"/Blue Beetle crossover fic I was writing last year? I, uhm, seem to have started that back up again, picking up where we left off:

Heaven's In Here: Part Eight: A thousand words

“That can’t be him,” said Etta, shoving me aside to look closer at the photo. “Look at the caption. It says 1973.”

She stepped back again, as though trying to get a different perspective on it.

“Maybe it’s his dad or something?” she said, hopefully.

I guess I’d seen more impossible things than PC Henrietta Bishop, because I wasn’t convinced. Besides, the idea that DCI Gene Hunt might be 20 or so years older than he appeared wasn’t even the weirdest thing to happen that day.

“There’s names on the plaque,” I said, wiping the dust off with my finger. “PC Christopher Skelton, DC Ray Carling, WPC Annie Cartwright, DCI Gene Hunt and DI Sam Tyler.” For some reason, my eyes were drawn to Tyler. There was something about him, something almost familiar.

Etta was fascinated now, looking over the wall of photos for another glimpse of Hunt. She found one.

“Look at this,” she said. “The date’s 1982, and he’s still labeled a DCI. Has he been a DCI for more than 20 years? That’s … a little weird.”

I looked at the photo. The color quality and hair both screamed “'80s” so loudly Flock of Seagulls may as well be playing behind them.

“Hey,” I said. “The other photo’s labeled ‘Manchester,’ and this one’s labeled ‘London.’ Did he transfer?”

Eta nodded.

“I think I heard that once,” she said. “He’s definitely from somewhere up that way.”

“OK,” I said. “Then why are Skelton and Carling in this picture, too? Is that normal?”

“No,” replied Etta. “It isn’t. And they look the exact same. My God, these photos have been here the whole time I have, and I’ve never noticed them.”

She wiped the dust of the tiny plaque at the photo’s base.

“WPC Sharon Granger,” she said, reading the plate, “and DI Alex Drake. That name’s kind of familiar, actually. I think she was a big deal about a decade ago.”

“What happened to her?” I asked.

“She moved on,” said a snarling voice behind us. We turned, and Hunt was behind us, annoyance written all over his face. “Eventually, everyone moves on. Except me. And you lot’ll be moving on a lot faster if you keep poking your noses in other people’s business.

“But the photos,” saud Etta, “they …”

“Old friends,” said Hunt, dismissively. “Good coppers, every one of them.”

He turned on his heel and stormed off, leaving Etta and I dumbfounded behind him.

I started to speak, but Etta interrupted.

“You know, DI Kord,” she said. “I think our shift is about over. Fancy a pint?”

Dear God, did I ever.

For those who enjoy exploration of class, sex, and gender roles, Hostage. RPS, A/B/O, mpreg. Heed the warnings on the post.

For any Buffista in a mood to write something cracktastic - I'd love to read a "Dr. Strange and Mr. Norell" crossover.