Sunset ^beta

Steph had done this before. She knew the risks, she knew the dangers, and she could get herself out. It was under control. It was fine. She didn’t need Tim’s help. She definitely didn't need help from Bruce.

She wiped her eyes, trying to blink away the sting of the sea spray. The pads of her fingers slipped against the damp wood of the side of the ship. "Fuck!" She couldn't fall, not now, not when she was already halfway up the side. She might not be able to find her little boat again. And what if it was gone? After all, the rope tying it to The Cluemaster was old and fraying, and she didn't have a better one. She grit her teeth, pushing herself closer to the hull, forcing her fingertips between cracks between the planks.

The top of the ship was close. She could do this. It was only a couple more feet, and then she'd be on the deck.

She had to do this. 

Steph couldn't let her dad come back to shore again. It was the same pattern, over and over: He got arrested, went to some shit jail, broke out, picked a new boat, and sailed straight into Steph's life. Her mom had it bad enough as it was without worrying about her husband at sea— or worse, worrying about when Arthur would be back to tormenting them. Frankly, Steph herself had it bad enough being known as the insane pirate's daughter without having to deal with Arthur in the flesh.

So she just had to get him arrested, and hope this time he wouldn't break out before he made it to the gallows. There were lots of bits of sabotage that wouldn't kill him directly, necessarily, but would get the crew out of the waters.

Part of her wondered why she couldn't just kill him and finally finish this if the goal was his death. But. When push came to shove, that wasn't really Steph's goal. She wanted him out of her life. She didn't want to be the one with hands stained red. If he didn't hang, and she never saw him again, she would be just as happy. None of this was fair— she didn't deserve to be born to an addict and a pirate, didn't deserve the fate of a life spent cleaning up her father's messes. Steph had learned long ego that life isn't fair. Maybe it was selfish, but she had been through enough without having to be the one to watch the light leave her father's eyes.

"Shit!" Another splinter drove itself into Steph's palm. The salt water burned. Steph inhaled, and she forced herself to slow down the exhale. It was fine. She was fine. It'd be over soon.

Her forearms and shoulders burned as Steph climbed, plank by plank by plank. If her father were better at his chosen lifestyle, it might be harder for Steph to stop him. But he wasn't the captain of Poison Ivy or Iceberg. Each time, without fail, his ship sucked just enough that Steph could worm her way inside and out.

She gave herself a moment aboard the deck. Closed her eyes. Listened to the seagulls, the lapping of the waves, the muted snoring from belowdecks. Maybe in another life, she could've worked on a merchant ship.

If she could kick Arthur out of her life, maybe she still could.

Or maybe she would finally be full-time on the Batcave. Merchant vessel by day, but privateers by night. She'd worked alongside them, especially her ex-boyfriend Tim, to take down pirates. Bruce didn't like her, but she knew some of the others (Like Duke, or Tim, maybe even Babs if she was in a good mood) could vouch for her.

That was the future. Steph had a job to do. Once her mom was okay and her dad was gone again, she could start to think beyond that.

The hold was easy enough to find. It was similarly easy to wedge her knife within a barrel of water, and let it leak out. And to do the same to one of brandy. She didn't want to try her luck, so she started to creep out of there. If she could just make it off—

The back of Steph's neck prickled. She turned towards it.

The skin of her neck begin to bleed.

This fucker had a cutlass against Steph's throat.

"Not you again, little rat," he was saying. "You can't lose us 3 day's pay in brandy and get away with it." 

Steph was a good fighter. She also knew that unless she was smart about this, it wouldn't matter how good of a fighter she was: she'd die before she got a chance. He was hoping she'd surrender, and someone else could deal the killing blow. That was the only reason she wasn't already gone.

She flung an elbow backwards, into his sword arm. Threw her head into his. His sword skidded sideways. The blade nicked her shoulder, but it wasn't fatal.

Where the fuck could she run? She didn't have time to climb overboard. While she bled, the sharks could get her. But if she stayed up here, she'd die a worse death: keelhauled, maybe? Thrown over the side? She'd seen what Arthur could do with just a rope and a plank of wood.

Fuck it. She'd take the sharks.

Steph was airborne.

Falling.

She'd had a good run.

Well. An okay run, at least.

One foot met her boat. The other met the water. She fell forward, disoriented. Wood crashed into her skull.

The world went black.

Steph woke up with a dull ache in her head, and a sharper one in her ankle. She would've been a little grumpier about this if she'd expected to wake up at all.

Her eyes blinked open to a blurry shadow that was punctuated by two specks of light. As she kept blinking, they slowly focused into two dark eyes watching Steph with concern. Or maybe curiosity? The intensity of her stare didn't reveal which one it was. The shadow around her became clearer: a girl with sharklike teeth and gills along her neck.

Panic rose up in Steph's throat. She didn't like this. Her skin crawled at the overwhelming vulnerability, the way she didn't know where she was or who this was or what they wanted. Was she saved? Was she kidnapped?

She tried to sit up. The world swam around her, and the pain only intensified. Steph wasn't about to let that stop her. "Who are you?"

"Cass," the girl replied. "Sit back down. You have a concussion."

Steph moved to a cross-legged position, despite the way the pain in her ankle shot through her leg. It looked like they were on a raft maybe twice the size of Steph's canoe, with only a day or two's worth of provisions. "Where are we? Are we near land?"

"A few miles off shore. Close to The Batcave."

"Do you know me?"

"Yep," she said. As if Steph should've known her too. "Tim mentioned you."

Oh. This was that Cass. Probably. The panic sank from a roar overflowing through her throat to a dull hum in the back of Steph's skull. 

"Sorry," Steph offered. "Um. Yeah, I'm Steph. Nice to meet you."

"Lay down," Cass reminded her. "You have a concussion. And a incomplete fracture in your ankle." She flicked Steph's forehead with a small smirk. "Get sleep before we're back on the boat." Cass then jumped overboard with a splash, into the ocean.

The last thing Steph saw of her was a blue-green tail.

Huh.

Steph wasn't stupid. She knew that not everything in the sea was human. She'd heard the legends, that the longer you stay out at sea, the less human you get and the harder it is to return to the shore. She'd even seen it: the way her dad's hands grew more webbed every time he came home, the way Tim's irises had slowly become more catlike. She knew that Bruce hadn't always melted into the shadows, Duke hadn't always had that slight glow, Babs hadn't always had an internal compass, and Helena didn't always have perfect aim.

It just tended to be more subtle. Or at least— more subtle closer to shore. She'd seen the way the stars hid in Babs's hair out in the open ocean, the way Tim's hearing and instincts grew more uncanny, and the way Bruce began to seem more like a ghost and less like a man. She hadn't experienced it herself, mostly because Steph hadn't spent much time actually at sea. Not yet.

But someday, she would. She was sure of it.

She didn't realize she'd drifted off until she was waking back up. Her head hurt less. It had been hours? Probably not days, but her concussion seemed a little better even if her ankle wasn't. Cass was on her stomach, tail sparkling in the sun. She threw Steph a piece of hardtack.

Steph's face burned. She'd known she could admire women as much as men. She just wasn't expecting this woman to be so easy to admire.

"Is this from your stores?"

Cass nodded her head. "Yeah. We're near their boat, but still about a day away."

“Thanks.” She dipped it in the water. It'd be a while until it was soft enough to eat. “How’d you find me?”

"We were planning on going after your dad sometime soon anyway. Tim suggested that someone keep an eye out for you."

"Thanks."

"Of course," Cass replied. Steph chewed on the biscuit, trying to imagine it had any flavor worth speaking of.

After some time, it finally occurred to Steph to ask, "What else has Tim said about me?"

"A bit. He's called you brave, reckless, kind-hearted, angry." Cass took a long look at Steph that was... almost flirtatious? Maybe? "He called you a good kisser, too. While he was drunk."

Steph's cheeks burned. That was. Definitely flirting. She could not fumble this. "He did?"

"I don't know that I believe him, though," Cass continued. She was smirking.

"I'll let you find out someday, if we make it off this raft."

Cass rolled her eyes. "We will. You'll be fine. Just wait one more day, for them to get to you. Nobody dies on my watch."

Steph was inclined to believe her. Cass didn't seem like the kind of person who allowed herself to be proven wrong. She took another bite of hardtack and chewed thoughtfully. "You know why I'm out here, right? What about you?"

"Ran away from home." It wasn't melancholy echoing in Cass's voice, and it wasn't nostalgia— it was almost a yearning. Steph would know. She, too, had looked into the horizon and wished for a normal life. Normal parents. Hell, even loving parents. "It was— my dad was a bad person. I snuck onto ships, until I found the Batcave. They gave me a job. Gave me a home."

"Was it worth it?"

"Better than being home."

"Right, but if you could undo it all. Would you?"

Cass shrugged. "Would you?"

"Maybe," Steph sighed. "I love being at sea. It's my passion. I discovered it because I had to deal with my dad. But if I hadn't, I like to think I would've found it anyway. I don't want to give him credit for who I became, you know?"

Cass just hummed thoughtfully. "What if... what if you had to? What if he was the reason you are who you are?"

"I..." Steph's voice trailed off. "I don't know. I don't think I'd be the same person if he was a good father. But I think I'd be similar enough." She reached out and slung an arm around Cass's shoulder. Cass leaned into the touch. "I think you would be pretty similar too."

Cass lay there, next to Steph. It was chilly, and Cass's warmth helped Steph slowly drift off. She dreamed of cute privateer boys that weren't a good match for her, not anymore. And she dreamed of gorgeous mermaids stealing her away— and of her wanting them to do so.

She woke to one of those aforementioned gorgeous mermaids shaking her awake. Steph groaned. "Concussion," she mumbled. The shaking lessened, replaced by a pushing at her arm.

"Batcave is close," Cass was saying. "Your concussion is mostly better, right? Let's go."

"Are you sure? I don't know if—"

Cass just shook her head. "It'll be quick. Let's go before it can get late."

Against her better judgement, Steph relented. “Fine. But I can’t swim as fast as you, so—"

“Just hold on.” Cass slid into the ocean and patted her back. Steph raised an eyebrow, but Cass was apparently dead serious. With a sigh, Steph slipped into the water and tightened her arms around Cass's waist.

It was intimate, holding on as Cass swam. It was like sharing secrets on a raft for two: not something Steph had expected to do with a stranger, and it required a little more trust than Steph was completely on board with, but with Cass she just had a feeling that it was okay. Cass's stomach moved against Steph's arms, in and out with each breath. Cass's tail flicked as she swam, sometimes brushing against Steph's legs. The two of them stayed close to the surface. Cass had clearly done this before, enough to have an idea of how often she needed to bring Steph up for a breath.

The water rushing past them, the feeling of Steph’s hair floating behind her... it was almost a kind of freedom. Just like sneaking out in the middle of the night, or getting onto Bruce's boat before he could force her back to shore, or sabotaging pirate vessels under the cover of darkness. Steph grinned into the waves.

It was over before long. Cass was fast. Steph was utterly soaked, and she didn’t care at all. There was a rope ladder lowered over the edge, which Steph climbed onto.

“Need help?”

Cass just laughed. “Nah. I've got enough upper body strength to climb this thing, don't worry." She made it up just after Steph. Or at least, Steph assumed so— Tim had barrelled into her as soon as she was on deck, scooping Steph into a bear hug.

“Steph! You made it!”

"Yes, Tim," Steph grunted. He was squeezing her a little too tight. "I did."

"I was so worried!"

Babs wheeled over. "He was," she confirmed. "Wouldn't shut up. Duke's also been a little worried, but a normal amount."

"Tim, you know I won't go down that easy."

"Yeah, yeah," he replied. "Good to see you too. I'm gonna go find Duke."

"Hey Babs?" Steph asked as Tim headed belowdecks. "Are you guys headed out or back?"

"Out right now. The Iceberg sent one of the smaller ships of the fleet out for a job. We're trailing it. Shouldn't take too long."

“Could you use an extra hand?"

Babs smiled. "I think we can find something for you to do." Her eyes flicked between Steph and Cass. "Just, maybe not our best swordsman until after we've beaten them." Cass's face turned scarlet almost as quickly as Steph's did.

"I'm, um." Steph started. "I'm gonna go look for Duke. Good to see you, Babs. See you soon, Cass."

"Don't forget," Cass added in a hushed tone. "What Tim said. We made it off the raft, so...?"

"For sure," Steph winked. "Soon. Once this mission is over."

Cass nodded. She slunk off into the shadows, the way Bruce had that uncanny ability to, and left Steph alone with Babs. She could hear Tim and Duke bickering belowdeck, and the sounds of Dick doing some kind of acrobatic practice on the other side of the boat. She could even hear the ocassional thuds into the wall that indicated Helena's crossbow practice. It was different from Arthur's ship— it wasn't quite as quiet, but Steph didn't want it to be.

This wasn't a permanent home for Steph. Not yet, at least. She was still so glad to be back.