Peter was overjoyed that he had made that connection with her, and that she wanted to return it had him walking on air. It was the first step in hopefully adapting her to a life similar to a human being. She slipped back into the water, something resembling a smile lingering on her face.

I would like to tell you my story.

Now that he was used to hearing her voice inside his head, he allowed himself to listen to how it actually sounded, even though he wasn't technically hearing it. She had a low, soothing voice, similar to how she sang. When he thought of a siren, he typically imaged a high soprano-like voice, but her low alto sound captured him just as much. He wondered if the others had different vocal types or if they were all the same. If they reproduced asexually as she had described, then they would all have the exact same vocal folds. She was different in that she was half human, so maybe she was the odd one out.

Peter nodded, wishing he could communicate back to her. He had so many questions that she wouldn't be able to answer for a long time.

Instead of sitting back in his chair, he crouched down and leaned his head up against the side of the glass. He could hear the soothing sound of the water circulating the containment, and her voice inside his head like earbuds. There was a pleasant, warm feeling in his stomach, and he knew he was somewhat underneath her spell. It was a sensation that he knew he would have to get used to, as well as trust. Until she could speak it was the only way that she would be able to communicate with him.

As she told her story, he was shown images to go along with it. It was like watching a movie. The beginning was something he had already seen in his sleep; a human and a siren falling in love, creating a child, but the horror that followed was difficult for him to watch. The set of lovers had their throats torn out by the creatures for going against the siren law. A brutal way to be killed. The child, however, was preserved, after much deliberation.

She was beaten down. Her existence was held over her head like a cat toy on a string. They demanded her to be grateful for her life and abused her at the same time. She was isolated, picked on, her tail was nipped on by pointed incisors, and no single siren seemed to be on her side. She was hated only for being born by a human.

To prevent her from moving onto land as her mother did, the base of her tail and the mid-waist were tied with a rope, tightly. Apparently, it was cursed, but Peter knew that this had to be a trick placed in her mind. Unless there was such thing as magic, which was now entirely possible, he felt like he could cut the rope with a good pair of scissors or a knife.

She had never experienced love or care. This was the first time anyone had asked her about her.

Through this trance, he felt the same emotions she felt. The tear slipping down his face was completely involuntary. The intense amounts of pain she felt day by day, the strong desire to cease from living, it was a depression much like many teenagers his age faced. He could tell that she just didn't have the resources to pursue death by her own hand. She was subject to a life she didn't ask to live.

Peter hoped that they had saved her.

He turned around, pressing his forehead against the cold glass and subdued a sob. The desire to cry was strange, as he had known this being for less than a day, but he knew that it was partially due to her strong emotions feeding through the spell. Still, e felt an inexplicable tie to her. A fishing line connected their hearts. He opened his eyes to see her silver irises, a fragment of compassion lingering in them.

"I'm so, so sorry."

His siren became his new research project. Mr. Stark even approved him to become the lead worker on her, entrusting him to do what was right and ethical and to be as thorough as possible. It was an extension of his Stark Internship. Per Aunt May's request, his routine became homework, patrol, and then siren.

Some days, he didn't have much to do concerning to her. Those days consisted of sitting by her doing homework, taking notes on her behavior and physicality, listening to her sing, and then going home. On Fridays, he stayed the night. Most days, they practiced speech. Peter figured that the first step to getting the most accurate assessment would be if it came from her own interpretation on how she operated.

Her ability to verbalize was limited, but he discovered that she picked up on the meaning of words quickly. The more he babbled, talking about his day, the more she was able to respond within his mind. It was a revolutionary day when they were finally able to have a complete conversation.

Peter was unsure on how Mr. Stark had managed the politics behind this. He was grateful that it wasn't his responsibility to figure out how to tell the government about this creature, as he wouldn't know how to do it. It all seemed awfully complicated, and he had been tempted to talk to Mr. Ellis about the situation, but always tended to wimp out on it. Asking Mr. Stark would be out of the question; he already had enough on his mind.

Two months after they first discovered her, Peter sat at the base of her tank, skimming The Great Gatsby. She had been swimming and singing, mindlessly. When she stopped he hadn't noticed that the book had fallen on his lap, and he was staring into open space. She had told him once that she never purposefully intended for him to fall under her trance, sometimes people were susceptible. Some more than others. From what she could tell, he had a pretty strong mind. For most sirens it would be difficult to break through.

She seemed to infer that it was different for her case, and he wondered why but didn't ask. She had vowed to him to never make him do anything he didn't want to, and he trusted her.

He turned around looking at her to question why she had stopped. She fell to the bottom, sitting and letting her tail extend behind her. She gave him a short grin, the closest he had gotten her to smile, and leaned her head against the glass on the same spot his rested. The way she looked at him, he sometimes felt as if he was falling. Her mystic stare was enough to make his heart swell.

I would like to be able to identify myself.

Peter raised his eyebrows, "You want a name?"

She nodded. Peter gestured at her, and he could see the slight irritation by the way her face twitched, but she followed what he was asking for, by mouthing the word 'yes' and the word 'name.' It was an easy way of practicing her dictation without her having to swim to the top and speak the words out loud.

He pulled out his laptop and googled 'popular names' to get a brainstorm going. He figured he would spurt names out until she found one she liked, it probably wouldn't take too long. He hoped it wouldn't take too long.

An hour later, Peter was still lazily reading names, and she was laying over the edge of the tank, head dangling, saying, "no" to almost every suggestion. Rarely was there hesitation. She insisted that she would know the name when she heard the right one, so they compromised that he would keep helping her if she spoke her responses out loud.

"Name number 300 is Haven."

She scrunched her nose, "No."

"Elsie."

"No."

"Nyla."

"No."
"Paris?"
"No."

"Lena."

There was a hesitation that he hadn't heard in a while. Sometimes she paused for a second or two, a possible contemplation, but this hesitation was longer, and her facial features relaxed at the sound of it. Peter broke into a grin.

"You like that one? Lena?"

She nodded.

"Say it. Say the words."
"My name…my name is L-" she hadn't spoken the word before, so it was difficult for her to string the consonants and syllables together.

"You got this."

"Lena. My name. Is. Lena."

Peter shut his laptop and turned around. She had done the same, now letting her torso fall over the edge to get closer to him, "Nice to meet you, Lena. My name is Peter."

She had been right. The name suited her, better than any of the others that he had said that day. When he googled the name that night, it was no surprise to him to discover that her name meant "temptress" or "one who allures." Allure was one word for it, that was for sure. That impenetrable force was what brought Peter to the Avenger's complex every evening. They had this connection, and every time he tried to describe it to Ned, he fell short on the words. Ned used the word soulmate, Peter insisted he didn't see her like that.

He didn't know if he didn't or if he didn't want to. She was obnoxiously gorgeous, and it would be easy to see her like that, but for the sake of her rehabilitation, he didn't want his feelings getting in the way. Those stupid, teenage feelings were absolutely vexatious.

He found himself needing to spend extra time on patrol. He left early, checked in with May, and leapt out the window to swing through town. He always found solace in the feeling of swinging from building to building. It was a clarity that he needed, especially after spending so much time around a girl who could hypnotize him by the sound of her voice.

Incoming call from Tony Stark.

Mr. Stark never called unless it was absolutely necessary. While they had grown closer through the existence of Lena, it wasn't the type of relationship where Peter felt like he could call whenever he needed to. Some days he spent hours in the lab without seeing Mr. Stark once. He knew that had to be regarding something important.

"Hey Mr. Stark!" he yelled, the wind was whistling in his ears.

"Peter, does she have a name now?"
Peter didn't say anything, not knowing if Mr. Stark was proud or annoyed.

"She just introduced herself to me, so I'm assuming that would be a yes."

"Listen it wasn't even my idea I just helped out and actually it sort of fits her, you know? The Latin meaning of Lena is 'temptress' and well you know that-"

"Yeah, I know. I like it. Good work."
Peter stopped swinging, hanging onto the side of a hotel window. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see a set of kids rush over, trying to get his attention. He wiggled his fingers to wave and jumped to the roof, wanting to hear his mentor a bit more clearly.

"Wait, really?"

"I mean, it's better than calling her the siren or the mermaid. She's an individual just like you and I. Obviously she has a soul. If she doesn't we're both fucked. Anyways, I have to go. Good talk."

Call ended.

There were moments like this that continuously popped up in Peter's life. When Mr. Stark first came to his apartment, when he got his suit back, when he specifically asked Peter to join his project, it all gave Peter a sense of pride. He felt a warmth in his chest that made him want to leap for joy. He jumped, pumping a fist in the air and hoping no one could see him doing a victory dance.

Then he did leap for joy, off the edge of the hotel and into the city of Queens.