A/N: I've been sitting on this story for awhile, but I wanted to finish my other two H2O fics uploaded here and on Ao3 first. Writer's Block decided otherwise. I've decided to finish this story first, then go back to the other two—this one is fully fleshed out, unlike the others.

As always, let me know what you think in the reviews. Feedback keeps the inspiration flowing!

And I was on the island, and you were there too
 But somehow through the storm I couldn't get to you,
 Oh St. Jude, somehow she knew
 And she came to give her blessing while causing devastation
 And I couldn't keep my mouth shut, I just had to mention
 Grabbing your attention –

– St. Jude, Florence + The Machine.

— — —

He heard his mother's voice through the darkness. Time to wake up, sweet boy, She said softly—her french accent heavy in her tiredness, and comforting in his confusion, Il est temps de se réveiller. You're not going to leave me alone with Don, are you? He stinks like fish. He wanted to open his eyes, but exhaustion felt like a heavy blanket wrapped around his entire being. He was so tired. And his chest. . . Why did his chest hurt so badly?

Awareness came back to Lewis slowly. He began to hear other voices: Don chuckling sadly and saying in jest, At least I don't stink like antiseptic and vomit. When's the last time you had a shower, Cara?

A soft laugh from his mother that bled into a sigh. The work never ends, does it Donny?

No, Don agreed. It really doesn't.

Silence fell over the three of them. Lewis still couldn't bring himself to open his eyes, but he was able to twitch his toes. And his fingers. That's a good sign, he told himself, I can still move–I'm not paralyzed. What the hell happened?

Another voice joined in shortly after. Cleo's.

I come bearing coffee, She said, Cara, here's your french vanilla latte— the sound of footsteps, shuffling— And dad, here's your caramel macchiato.

Lewis wanted to chuckle at that. Don, the gruff commercial fisherman who braves the seas to feed the good people of Australia and watches football religiously, prefers caramel macchiatos to black coffee. It didn't surprise him, though; Under the tough exterior, Don Sertori was softer than he let on, especially when it came to Cleo and Kim.

Caramel Macchiato? His mother asked, a hint of humor in her voice.

Kimmy got me started on these, Don replied, Now, I can't get enough of them.

Yeah, well, don't forget about your A1C, dad, Cleo said, You have to start watching your blood sugar. You're prediabetic. Caramel Macchiatos are for special occasions only now.

Lewis fought hard against the exhaustion and the soreness that now touched every part of his body to try and open his eyes. He had a feeling he was in the hospital where his mother worked, but regardless of where he was, he was surrounded by family. He wanted to be present with them far more than he wanted sleep and comfort.

With great effort, he opened his eyes. Pain spiked through his skull.

His first assumption had been right: He was in the hospital. It must be early in the morning, he figured, because the lights in his room were dimmed. The TV mounted on the wall was still on, playing some cricket match he didn't recognize, though the sound was so low it was almost on mute. His body ached. His chest hurt the most of all—sharp pain shot through his chest and neck when he breathed in.

"Ow," He managed to say. "Ow."

"Mon amour!" His mother exclaimed, leaning over his bedside to embrace him. "Comment te sens-tu? Comment va ta douleur?"

While his mother's English was nearly perfect after twenty years in Australia, she preferred to speak her mother tongue with her children.

Lewis hugged her back as best he could. "Je vais bien, maman. J'ai juste un peu mal à la poitrine."

"Chest pain is normal so long as it isn't squeezing or heavy," She said, switching back to English, presumably so Cleo and Don could understand. "You drowned, mon amour. The paramedics had to do CPR on you for six minutes. You've got a few cracked ribs. Anyone would be sore."

Lewis furrowed his brow, the information not quite registering in his mind. CPR? Six minutes? "I. . . was dead? For six minutes?"

His mother's eyes, crystalline blue, as bright as a diamond in the sun, were wet with tears. "Yes, sweet boy, but they got you back. We will always get you back."

She squeezed his hand, then brought it to her mouth to kiss it. "Not even the gates of Hell could take you from me."

While Lewis didn't share his mother's devoutly Roman Catholic worldview, he appreciated the sentiment.

His mother released his hand and sat back in her chair so Cleo could have her turn in smothering him with love. Lewis winced as the hospital bed shifted, despite Cleo's carefulness; She slid into his bed and embraced him, firm but gentle, cautious of his injuries.

"I was so scared," Cleo said into his neck, halfway to a sob. "I thought I'd lost you. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, Lewis."

Sorry? For what?

"Good to have you back, son," Don said, giving his wrist a firm, reassuring squeeze. "Don't you ever scare us like that again."

Lewis bristled at that–he didn't like anyone calling him son , save for his mother. He rarely felt like a good one.

He hugged Cleo tight to him, closed his eyes, and pressed his forehead against hers. He loved her so much, so fiercely, he often thought his heart would burst. He and Cleo hadn't said the words to each other yet— I love you— but he'd felt them since he was thirteen years old.

"Please forgive me," Cleo whispered quietly, so only he could hear. "I'm so sorry."

You drowned, his mother had said. Fragmented pieces of memory flickered through his mind: Opening night at Rikki's Café, playing the drums for the girl who replaced Nate as vocalist—her name was Bella, he thought—following Bella outside when she ran off stage to make sure she was alright, then—then—

The water tentacle. It grabbed Rikki.

And him.

It grabbed him too.

Suddenly he remembered vividly the crushing weight around his ribs, the swoop of his stomach as he flew through the air, the sharp splintering of his bones, the fire in his lungs and blood as he starved for oxygen, clawing at his throat, at the tentacle, seeing the surface of the water—it was so cold, the water was so cold, so cold—just a few feet above him, taunting him.

This is how I die, he remembered thinking, This is it. I don't even get to see twenty.

Lewis gasped suddenly and abruptly sat up, knocking Cleo to the side. Tears sprung to his eyes as he grabbed at his throat, suddenly short of breath, choking on panic and pain.

Six minutes. You were dead for six minutes.

You were dead.

His vision narrowed to a pinprick. There was commotion all around him, suddenly. He heard his mother's voice, louder now but still reassuring, and the warm weight of Cleo's body was suddenly gone from him. Tinnitus shrieked in his ears. He couldn't make out much of what was being said. There were nurses in the room now too.

"Okay, baby– A little– Just to help you relax— Safe— Panic attack– Deep breaths– Some Ativan– Morphine- Oxygen looks great– Okay– You're okay–"

Heaviness came over Lewis again. Warmth flooded through him. More exhaustion. More sleepiness. Breathing came easier. He was distantly aware of being assisted back into a lying position. Too tired to fight it, he closed his eyes and slipped back.

— — —

Cleo watched in silence as her father unlocked the front door. It was a little past six in the morning. She rubbed at her sore, tired eyes with the back of her hand; Her sinuses were congested from crying—could grief kill a person? Guilt? Her heart ached so badly for Lewis she couldn't help but wonder.

She and her father had stayed at the hospital all night—since the paramedics arrived with Lewis' wet, broken body. They only left after Cara urged them to do so after Lewis had to be sedated. You both need sleep, She'd told them softly, And I'm a doctor here, so you have to do what I say. After, she gave them both a long hug, told them she loved them, and would call later with an update.

"You should get some rest, darling," Don said once the two of them were inside. "You've been up a long time. I'm going to go take a nap now myself. I love you."

Cleo nodded. "I will, daddy. I love you too."

Daddy. How long had it been since she called her father that? Ten years? Eleven? Once she started wearing her once-favorite sheer, glitter-pink eyeshadow at eight years old in an attempt to emulate her teenage cousin, she'd adamantly only referred to her parents as "mum and dad." When she strolled into school in her eyeshadow and cherry lemonade chapstick she felt too cool for school, she'd felt so adult. . . But now, at eighteen, she felt like a child again. The world felt so terrifying and so huge. Lewis died. The paramedics got his heart beating again, but it still stopped—the love of her life, her very best friend, her favorite person alive, was dead for six minutes. And the fear didn't stop there; At fifteen, she'd made one reckless decision—perhaps her first reckless decision—and ended up changing species entirely. Human one day, mermaid the next. What else might be waiting around the bend?

The house returned to silence as her father ascended the stairs. Kim was already off to school.

Cleo made her way into the kitchen and poured a cup of lukewarm coffee—Kim must've made some before school—into her favorite mug. It was an ugly purple clay thing Lewis made for her when they were fourteen; His strengths had never lied in the arts, but it was required for a class at school. Cleo cherished that ugly, lopsided, streaky thing more than anything. She mixed in a hint of sugar and her favorite vanilla creamer, then headed to the couch to watch some TV.

Her mind reeled. How had things gone so badly, so quickly last night? One minute, she and Rikki and Zane were dancing along to the band, and the next Rikki and Lewis were being violently pulled from the shore to Mako Island, and Bella—

Bella. Cleo had almost forgotten about her. Suddenly there was a new mermaid, too.

Cleo wasn't sure how she felt about that yet. Would Bella be a new friend, someone to share their momentous secret with? Or would she be another Charlotte? She had a feeling Bella was more likely to be a friend than foe, but couldn't be sure yet. . . But, to Bella's credit, she did want to make sure Will was alright when they found him in the Moon Pool, unconscious on the sand; And she'd stayed with Lewis until three in the morning just to make sure he was going to be okay.

Rikki decided to leave with Bella last night. Cleo hadn't spoken to either of them since.

She took a slow sip of her coffee, savoring the semi-warmth and sweetness, before grabbing her phone from where it laid next to her. It was half-dead. She opened Rikki's contact and sent her a text message:

TO: HOT STUFF
 Just got home. Lewis is doing okay. I'm going to visit him this afternoon before visiting hours end if you want to come with me. How did things go with Bella?

It didn't take long for Cleo's phone to light up. She smiled. Rikki, who rarely woke before noon when she didn't have school, must be too worried about Lewis to sleep too.

FROM: HOT STUFF
 I'll b there. Lemme kno when. Bella's cool. We can all meet b4 heading 2 the hospital

Rikki liked Bella, at least. That was a good sign.

Cleo didn't reply. She would a little later, after her coffee was gone and her favorite music video—Feel it Too by Kate Alexa—stopped playing on the tv. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, trying to decompress.

Lewis is okay, She told herself, He is safe and alive, and he'll feel better tomorrow, when the shock of everything that happened has worn off. Bella doesn't seem like a threat. Will didn't see anything. Everything will be okay.

Cleo repeated those last four words over and over again in her mind, clinging to them like a lifeline, like a mantra, like a prayer. Everything will be okay. Everything will be okay. Everything will be okay.

She couldn't bring herself to believe it.