A/N: I honestly wasn't planning on continuing this, but was convinced to write a drabble based on Syrena's thoughts. So, here it is.
Disclaimer: I do not own Pirates of the Caribbean.
"She has a name!"
Syrena was unused to kindness.
Her sisters, while she knew she would never have survived without them, were not kind. They only cared of finding men to bring down to the sea floor, to have their way with and then kill them.
Syrena did not care for killing men.
She found them vulgar and foul; she had never met a man with any redeeming qualities, none worth bringing down to the floor, even just to kill.
Until now, that is.
Philip was different; Philip was kind and gentle, and a man she found herself strangely drawn to. He had saved her from the other pirates; he had seen her struggling for air, and made the effort to save her.
She would not forget it.
And she was still amazed he'd even taken the time to notice she was suffocating.
"They did not take the time to look."
Yet he had. And that made him different-different, and special, and important.
As they swam, she looked at him; his wide brown eyes gazed at the sea world around him, and she realized once again that this was all new to him.
She was glad she had saved him. No matter what her sisters said-no matter how horrible they spoke of men, and the human race itself, she was falling for Philip, and she was proud to have saved him.
She had known since the time she was only a small mermaid that a kiss from her could keep a sailor from drowning. And when she had seen Philip lying on the ground, clutching his wounded side, she'd known she needed to save him. He had saved her-how could she not, in return, save him?
Her eyes were drawn to his cross again-he called it a crucifix. It was a symbol of the man he worshiped-God, he said it was. She had never heard of such a thing-she worshiped the sea creatures and the sea god, who kept the oceans plentiful with sailing ships and the creatures within the waves.
Philip inhaled another breath in her arms, and she felt the movement of his chest against her breasts, his muscular frame making her body tingle in ways she'd never experienced before.
"You saved me. You are different."
He smelled rugged; manly and strong, his scent had overpowered her, even when she'd been in the sea, going towards him on the shore. She would never forget his scent; it was unique and individual, and she would always associate it with him.
A sharp, jabbing pain hit her as she moved her tail, and the reminder of the cut he'd given her on the beach hit her. It would leave a scar; after the scales had healed in her fin, there would always be a line from the blade he'd taken to her. She understood it was not his nature; he was not a fighter, he was a missionary.
She still believed he should not take up a blade again until he had had some practice, however.
His body gave a shiver in her arms, and she remembered that he would be cold; her body was used to all this traveling in cooler ocean waters. She could regulate her temperature easily, adapting to the water around her accordingly.
Pulling him closer, she watched as his hand came to her face, touching the silky brunette strands softly, tucking them behind her ear, even though they both knew that at her speed the hair would never stay. The gesture warmed her, and she smiled, her fangs gleaming in the low lighting.
Philip did not shrink from her fangs, as most would. He was fascinated; even now, he brought one hand up and run a finger over her full bottom lip, making her stomach warm at his touch. His finger moved to her right fang, his fingers gentle against the sharp edge.
She tugged him closer, wishing he could get even closer; his flesh felt so warm and comfortable against hers. She brought her lips to his again, the memory of that first kiss still engraved in her brain, hopefully for forever. His lips were soft and smooth, and she resisted the urge to sigh as they kissed.
Syrena believed that anything could be possible, even something as impossible as loving a human, as long as Philip was by her side-his hands in her hair and his lips on hers.
The impossibility of loving a human loomed on the horizon.