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Waves

Summary:

“How many times must I pull you from the sea?” She mutters, the hint of annoyance in her tone clearly losing out against the amusement shining in her eyes.

“Maybe a few more.”

Notes:

Day 26! I acknowledge the differences between an ocean and a sea, as well as between different oceans and different seas, however, for the brief vocab interests here, no.

Work Text:

In the ten or so minutes since they’d arrived at the beach, Steve had come to a few rather obvious conclusions.

The sun was hot, the sand was hot, and though the water probably wasn’t, Diana certainly was. From the way heads turned and otherwise distracted parents and couples paused to gawk as they walked by, Steve was confident that this was not just opinion - and biased opinion at that - but cold hard fact.

Diana, for her part, either didn’t notice, or didn’t care. She was a little ways ahead of him now, spreading a towel out across an unoccupied patch of sand. Sliding, soft, hot sand.

Everything was too damn hot. Everything but Diana, and the water, though for differing reasons. It’s a hard choice, or at least it normally would be, but Diana has already laid down on the towel, and the thought of nothing but sitting in the hot sun is not a super appealing one.

With this reasoning in mind, he starts off towards the water, pace increasing once he hits the wet sand and then finally the cool saltwater. He wads out until he can float, then swims a good bit further, attempting to clear the section of rougher current.

And then, as always, his attention is pulled back to Diana.

She looks up, and points in his direction.

He smiles, and waves, and realizes just a tad too late that she is actually pointing behind him. He turns away from the beach, one arm still raised, smile still plastered across his face, and rather than looking out over an expense of gently rolling water and endless horizon, all he sees his a wall of water that’s far too close to do much about.

The wave shows him no mercy. It does not care that this is meant to be a vacation, or that Steve has swam all the way out here in some misguided attempt at fun. He is in its way, and it will take him along for the ride, same as any other sap.

He gets rolled towards the shore, smacking with the crash of the wave just slightly too far away from stable sand to get a grip. All he manages is a few fistfuls of wet slush, a seashell to the knee, a small shot of saltwater to the lungs, and then the current starts to pull him out.

Unfortunately for it (but fortunately for him), he seems to be the rope in a very short game of tug of war, and the ocean is no match for its opponent. A hand clamps around his wrist and yanks, and then he’s on his back in the sand, staring up an Angel of a woman with a braid for the second time from this position.

“How many times must I pull you from the sea?” She mutters, the hint of annoyance in her tone clearly losing out against the amusement shining in her eyes.

“Maybe a few more.”

She offers a hand, and he takes it, allowing her to pull him back up to his feet. It’s still ridiculously hot, but now that the water has betrayed him, he decides it’s time to give the heat a chance.

“So, sand castle?”

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