AN: Thus begins another story, only this one is a combination of twenty-five one-shots. My inspiration is from The Lady Isis' "Sushi Ocean", which is a recommended reading.


Mother, mother ocean, I have heard you call
Wanted to sail upon your waters since I was three feet tall
You've seen it all, you've seen it all

Yes, I am a pirate, two hundred years too late
The cannons don't thunder, there's nothin to plunder
I'm an over-forty victim of fate
Arriving too late, arriving too late

A Pirate at Forty- Jimmy Buffet

The sea is a living thing, constant in its endless, changing movement and the white-noise sound of it. Its waves roar deep into my blood, searing and tingling to an almost boiling point, but never making it over the edge. Clark's voice is still resonating in my head from five days ago, "You need a vacation, Bruce. Maybe a week or so. You need to get out of here." So I did. And now, I've done nothing but sit out on the back deck of my vacation home, overlooking the crisp white shores of the Gulf of Mexico, and get drunk. From the time I wake up around noon to the time I pass out in that too huge of a bed that reminds me of how lonely I am, I drink. It doesn't help, but I'm slowly convincing myself that alcohol will solve my problems. I've never been a heavy drinker, just a glass of champagne or two at a fundraiser or a shot of Jamaican rum, never anything too serious.

Until she was taken. There's another reason for the alcohol, too. It slows down my thought process, to where all I'm thinking about is the ocean. Moments of my past come back to me: six years old, playing in the oversized bathtub in my mother and father's bathroom, and I can recall the plastic battleship in my hands, pushing it further and further into the bubbly water. My chubby hands chuck the ship back out, resurrecting it for pure enjoyment, while the water slides quietly out of the tub, splashing onto the marble tiles. I had always wanted to be a pirate, setting sail to the sea with my parents and dog, Sadie. Now, I want nothing to do with the gentle and turquoise-colored waves that roll in underneath my bare feet. Not too long ago, they were stained a color I was used to, red, with blood.

Tonight, I don't want to take a seat at my usual spot and gaze down at the beach-goers. Tonight, I am one of them. I look for a sign of her on the horizon, but the only thing I find is emptiness. It's funny, how I was so destined to protect her from my enemies, believing they were always one step ahead of me to finding out my relationship with Diana. I had never even considered her enemies, ones that escape out of the depths of Tartarus to seek their revenge.

The bottle of Grey Goose in my hand is beginning to warm from the salty air, but I tip my head back anyway and guzzle. Right now, it is the only bodily movement I can manage. The Fates are against me, she whispered as the Battleship Wisconsin's davit punctured her entire left side. The water swishing and slurping in my bottle of vodka reminds me of the sound of her body when it slid underneath the surface of the water.

I drink a little bit more, easing the bottle all the way back until nothing is left. Truly, there's something always left behind in the end, but right now there is nothing. I came out here on the beach to feel the wind, the sand still blazing underneath my feet even with the sun gone long ago. Unlike most nights, it is cloudy with a chance of a light rain.

I drop the bottle to the sand, watching a couple stroll by past me and give me a strange look. The numb feeling in my throat is back, tickling and teasing for another drink. I don't acknowledge it and instead step out, closer to the ocean's edge and I try not to think about the sticky salt water lapping at my ankles. My calves. My knees.

My chest. I dip into the water, opening my eyes and for the first time I don't feel that instant sting of searing pain. My blood has boiled itself to nothing, the rest of it destined to evaporate with the rest of me. Sea-glass eyes stare out at me as I swim deeper and deeper, resting my body against the bottom of the ocean floor. A group of navy-colored angelfish dart past and it seems their bodies are painted with stars. White stars. "Sure reminds me of the American flag, hun," The captain is saying to her and I feel my fists tighten, but she laughs. Squelching noise of the davit making its impact. The Fates are against me. USA Today headline: Wonder Woman Dies in Battle. The Fates are against me. I close my eyes and drink in the salt water that tastes like booze. Drink up me hearties, yo ho. Yo, ho, ho, a pirate's life for me.

By the time my body is found, I will be long gone, sharing a glass of champagne with my princess. Time does not exist while on (or under) the waves of its mercy. It forgets nothing, remembers everything else, and has plenty room to employ. Brothers have drowned in its wake, mothers have cursed its name, and lovers have disappeared into its vast waves. The sea is a living thing, constant in its endless, changing movement and the white-noise sound of it.