ZANE

He lay in bed, listening to the sluggish, sleepy murmurs as she rolled about next to him. She finally ended up on her stomach, head resting on her arm.

His fiancée. The soon to be Mrs. Bennett. He closed his eyes and allowed the thought to spin in his head like an unfaltering ballerina. He found that no matter how many times he had thought it over the last year and a bit, it still spurred the same excitement, elation—ecstasy it always did.

He grinned in spite of himself. How had he snagged her, after all that had happened—all he'd done to her—and managed to actually keep her? Sometimes it boggled his mind, and he stumbled back through his memory, trying to think when exactly he'd said the miraculous thing that had cast a spell on her and let him keep her forever.

"Zane..." she murmured next to him, her entire body tensing. She whimpered.

"Shh," he said, rolling onto his side and tangling his fingers through her curls. "It's alright, it's just a bad dream. Just a bad dream..."

She seemed to relax, her guardedness melting against the covers, a thin trail of drool painting her pillow. She released a string of barely comprehendible words, and went back to emitting her usual soft snores.

"That's it..." he whispered, unable to stop petting her hair. "It's alright."

He shifted so he was holding her, pressing his hand against her hip. He drew circles on her skin while she remained unaware, lost in the world of her slumber.

He closed his eyes, breathing a sigh. He was tired, after a long day of work at his father's company—something Rikki had been opposed to when he'd started, and she'd moved out and stayed with Bella for the next four weeks—but he just couldn't get to sleep.

He rolled out of bed, taking care to not jostle the mattress and invoke the full force of Rikki's wrath. He slunk to the door, where the honey light from the hallway spilled out into the room.

He crept downstairs, not being close to Rikki but still feeling the need to be quiet. Once in the gloom of the kitchen, he flicked the light on and sat down at a stool. He rubbed his hands through his short hair—hair that Rikki just adored to muss right before a meeting—and sighed. Sighed again. Sighed some more.

Lately, since he'd proposed, he'd been thinking about some—things. Like what he'd done to Rikki. And the girls.

He knew they weren't that supportive of their decision to marry, but he also knew they'd come around—if but slightly—on the idea, a little, since he'd proposed a year or so ago. After all, they'd had twelve years to sort through their personal problems with him. They were twenty-seven now. They'd had time to get over it.

But then again, maybe they wouldn't be so bitter if he hadn't levelled the moon pool to bits of smouldering rock. Or helped, at least. Maybe they would be a little... warmer to him if he'd just run as far and as fast from Mako Island as he could. Maybe he wouldn't have to deal with the occasional dirty looks he got from them, and the very occasional dirty looks he got from Cleo. Or maybe he wouldn't have to deal with the comments, brimming with resentment and hurt—though Emma would not show hurt—when they came back from the wrecked moon pool. Not that they did that often. He counted three times in the last year.

Now they just hung around the beach, or the cafe. They didn't really go out to Mako anymore.

But he saw the pain, shining in her eyes, a melancholy thing muting the leftover colour, when she came back from Mako Island, however rare it might be. He'd hurt her.

Something that couldn't be fixed with flowers or chocolate.

XXX

Rikki blinked at him, sipping her morning orange juice through a straw, her eyes bright and alert.

"Something's off about you."

He shrugged, saying, "I had a bad night,"

Her face scrunched with a grimace, all the freckles on her nose gathering in a circle. "Oh no, I didn't keep you awake with my dreams, did I?"

He shook his head. "No. No, it was something else."

She sat across from him at the dining table that was the centre of all their meals. "What was it?"

"Nothing."

She slammed her hand against the table, making him looked up at her with big, startled eyes. "Goddammit, Zane! We are not going into this marriage with secrets!" she hissed the last word, lingering, like it was poison.

"Rikki..." he said. "It's nothing, not really."

She looked down, as if startled by her outburst. "I'm sorry," she whispered. "I didn't mean to yell."

"It's alright."

"No, it's not," she said, staring into her hands. "But I'd still like for you to tell me."

"Fine," he said. "I was just thinking about Mako Island and—things,"

Her face went blank and pale, paler than usual. She finally got out, in a quiet voice, "Mako Island? Why would you think about Mako Island?"

"Just because of the wedding and everything... I guess I just..." he let the sentence trail, finishing with a shrug.

"Were you... thinking about anything else?"

It came out before he could stop it. "Denman."

Her eyes flitted down and she bit her lip. "I don't understand."

"I don't either, not really..." he said, shaking his head.

She stood up, the chair jostling with her sudden movement. "I'm going upstairs." She said, then practically ran to the staircase and bounded upstairs.

He frowned after her, but didn't follow. He stayed there, at the table, sipping his orange juice and staring into the dark chocolate grain of the wood. He hadn't been thinking about Denman—but now it hit him full on and he was surprised he hadn't.

Once, a while ago, he hadn't known of their mermaid secret and he'd set off to hunt them. There'd been a driven scientist he'd sought out, and in the end he'd exposed the mermaids to her.

He'd seen Rikki, floating in that pool, staring into him—burning into him—with her big, betrayed cerulean orbs. A shared look of pure terror.

But when he'd seen that they were the mysterious sea monster that had eluded him all that time, that they were the ones lying in that pool—he'd been scared. Shocked. Affronted. A whole other range of emotions he couldn't ever begin to describe.

For a moment he himself had felt betrayed, betrayed that Rikki hadn't told him. He'd looked down at her, and for a moment, he hadn't thought of her as a person. Rikki. His Rikki. He'd thought of her as a freak—some sort of abnormal fish.

Then the fear—the stone cold, hard, pure fear—in their eyes, her eyes, had got through to him. Melted him, splitting him into numerous, terrified pieces.

He'd had to help them escape. He'd had to save her.

Now he hated himself, for staring down at her and regarding her as not human. She was the most human person he'd ever met—with hopes, dreams, feelings and fears—fears, most of which he'd only just been entitled to.

She had no flaws. No matter what she told herself.

What they'd been through together proved that happy endings did exist. Though he was far from a prince, he'd caught himself the princess.

"Zane?" she was staring at him through clouded eyes, her feet grounded on the last step of the staircase. "Zane."

He looked over at her, smiling, painting a mental image of her hair tumbling out of her sloppy bun, a wedding dress—pure as the driven snow—spreading out all around her.

"Yes, sweetheart?"

"I never told you what my dreams are about."

He shot up. "Your bad dreams? No, no you haven't," he went over to her, wrapping an arm around her. "Rikki, I want you to know you don't have to. I won't push you, okay?"

"Okay," she whispered, nodding slowly. She looked up at him, blue eyes reflecting into his. "But I want to."

"Alright..." he said. "When you're ready."

"Zane," she said. She rubbed at her forehead, letting out an angry breath. "Okay, I don't really know how to say this other than to just say it..."

"Rikki," he said, pressing his lips to her gently. "It's okay."

She closed her eyes. "Zane, my dreams..." she said. "They're about us. And the baby."

"The baby?" he echoed, the words taking a few moments to fully hit him.

She looked down at her stomach. "Surprise."

He swallowed, disbelief painting his face before being replaced with joy. "Rikki, that's—that's—" he picked her up and twirled her around, breathing into her hair, "That great,"

He eventually set her down—she was hitting him and saying she felt dizzy—and claimed her lips with his.

No, she wasn't a freak. She wasn't strange. She wasn't peculiar or weird. She was perfect.

He loved her and she loved him, and nothing and no one else could make him see things differently.

How'd you like it? Three times as long as the original, and the last version didn't have a baby. I'm full of surprises, because I'm awesome. (Go figure.)

(That and people tend to like zikkibabies. Babies in general, actually. And who am I to judge your life choices? I live for the people.)