Chapter Twelve: X Marks the Spot

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Beatrice carefully led them to the nearest landmass: a thin circle of sand barely protruding from the surface of the water. After Malia brought the dog to shore, the animal couldn't do anything more than breathe weakly as they lay in the sand, the shallow waves carefully lapping at their feet. And Malia and Beatrice couldn't do anything more than run their hands over their fur, providing any comfort they could during the dog's final moments.

"Why is the ocean so cruel?" Malia whispered, her voice barely louder than the dog's shallow breaths. "What did this dog do to deserve this?"

Beatrice was silent for a few seconds. "I don't know, not even after a thousand years. What I do know is that we can at least help the ones that deserve more."

That wasn't the answer Malia hoped for, but it was more than she expected.

After that, they fell silent, focusing on soothing the dog between them. Occasionally, Malia would turn her attention to the dog's head, scratching them generously behind the ears then whispering about how sweet and good they were before carefully kissing their damp fur. And after each occurrence, the dog would let out a soft breath, each slightly weaker than the last.

So when the dog was silent after one of Malia's kisses, she knew they were finally at rest.

Still, she couldn't leave them, and she continued to pet their tangled fur as if she could soothe their tortured soul. And if Beatrice thought it was a waste of time, she didn't say so. Instead, she stayed by the dog's side, her hand following the rhythm set by Malia's.

Malia's eyes burned and vision blurred, and soon after, she finally had the answer to one of her earliest questions: she could still cry.

With that knowledge, the dam within her broke, releasing the emotions that she collected ever since she died months ago. She buried her face in the dog's fur, letting her tears mix with the drying salt from the ocean as if she could cry away the pain of their soul as well.

"What are you crying for?"

"Crying won't do you any good."

"If you have time to cry, you have time to work harder."

"Crying shows people that you're weak. Are you weak?"

Maybe she was. If that was the case, then so be it.

She only stopped short when she felt a hand rest atop her own, and her head snapped up. Beatrice watched over her, her own eyes glistening in the afternoon sun. As her thumb brushed against Malia's hand, her gaze drifted to the dog between them. With that, Malia allowed herself to release her pain for just a moment longer.

A moment became a minute that stretched on until nothing was left in Malia except a hollow ache. And even then, she didn't leave the dog's side, only tilting her head slightly so she could watch Beatrice's hand repeatedly run over the dog's dried golden fur.

"Thank you," Beatrice suddenly said.

The comment was so unexpected that Malia couldn't help but look at the woman, needing to make sure if she was talking to Malia or the dog. And when Beatrice's gaze met hers, Malia was even more confused.

"For listening to me," Beatrice continued. "For trusting me, even though I know you didn't want to."

Malia shook her head, returning her attention to scratching the dog's still head. "Thanks for stopping me. If I had gone through with that... I don't know what I would've done after that—if I was stuck underwater... forever."

She hadn't expected Beatrice to reply, especially not after she slightly slighted the woman's lifestyle choices, and Malia definitely wasn't prepared for the question she asked.

"How are you so determined to go back?" Beatrice asked quietly. "That motivation of yours... What could possibly drive you?"

Malia's instinctive answer was her work, but she knew that wasn't what Beatrice was asking.

"I... want to do something big, I guess. I want to have an impact on this world—to leave my mark. I guess..." The next words struggled to pass Malia's lips. "I want to feel like I have a purpose."

Beatrice's hand tightened over hers. "You don't need to do something life-changing to be important. Even the smallest of changes can make the world a better place. This dog, for instance. I'm sure they're more at peace now since you were here to comfort them."

"You're right," Malia said. "Those moments when we saved people... There's no other reward like that feeling. But something's still missing."

Malia knew the sensation, but she couldn't put it into words. Thankfully, Beatrice was patient.

"Being successful in school, in my research, in work," Malia began, "that's what I've been trying to achieve my entire life. It may not have started out as my goal, but it's what other people—my family—wanted from me, and I guess..." She tried to shrug, but her shoulders were too heavy to move much. "I wanted them to be proud of me. After everything they did for me, I didn't want to let them down. Their dream for me became my own."

There were a few seconds of silence before Beatrice replied. "You said you want to do something big. Perhaps you feel like that's what you need to do?"

It was what she needed to do. If she wanted to make her family proud, being successful was the only way. Anything less would result in disappointment, and she couldn't bear to disappoint them, not after everything they've sacrificed for her. If she wanted to be proud of her own work, she needed to make them proud first.

Malia's eyes widened with that last thought; that didn't seem right.

As if she could read Malia's mind, Beatrice's thumb began to graze over Malia's hand again.

"What do you want, Malia?" Beatrice asked. "And not what other people want for you; what do you want for yourself?"

The scent of savory diner food wafting into her lab. Soothing melodies that drowned out the stresses of the day. To run freely through the campus fountains in the middle of the rain.

"To be happy," Malia said, her eyes growing warm over the mere thought.

Thankfully, Beatrice was there, squeezing her hand comfortingly. "And what makes you happy?"

Malia was almost ashamed about how long it took her to answer.

"I don't know," she whispered, afraid to hear the words herself.

She shouldn't have been surprised when she looked into Beatrice's eyes and saw pride instead of disgust.

"Then I'll help you," Beatrice said. "We can figure that out together."

Once again, Malia felt her eyes burn and her view of Beatrice began to blur. She didn't know why, but she nodded anyway, needing to at least respond to Beatrice's thoughtful words.

But before Malia could thank her, her hands began to shift.

Both Malia and Beatrice jumped back as the dog began to move, first to wobble to their feet, then to shake the remaining moisture from their coat. The women only leapt into action when the dog started to explore inland, and they quickly grabbed the animal to keep them within their limited reach.

And then Malia realized: the dog's eyes were now bright blue, and their skin, mostly visible under the thin fur on their face, was seafoam green.

Before she could confirm her quick glance, the dog's tongue lapped at her face, as if returning all the kisses she gave them earlier.

"How about this?" Beatrice asked through their shared laughter. "Does this make you happy?"

"Yeah," Malia said, as if her wide grin wasn't already a clear answer.

Beatrice's smile grew as well. "Good. Then we'll keep finding more things—together."

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