Chapter Text
An old saying goes that blood is thicker than water, but does not take into account that for some, each might simply be one and the same. There are those whose veins pump the spirit of rough waters and raging storms. People who breath ocean air and feel bare without the sticky crust of ocean salt on their sun-baked skin.
Diana had known the taste of the sea before that of her mothers milk. Born at sea where she opened her mouth to cry out for the first time as spray settled on her face and toungue.
There, in her father's arms on that old fishing boat off the coast of Boston she had opened her eyes to the vast blues and greens of water spread as far as she could see.
Danny Madden would never forget the little smile that crossed baby Diana's face as she looked out to what would become her second home. He knew she was her fathers daughter, he knew he had a little sailor in his arms.
When she was two years old her father gave Diana he very first sword. It was hardly a weapon, a frail stick with a sanded down handle made by her father one day as he took a rest. They would play fight together with mini duels and chasing each other round the house much to her mothers scolding.
At six years old she was helping him ready his boat each day. She could tie unbreakable knots and scrape the most stubborn of barnacles from the sides of her fathers small fishing dingy. Diana would untangle nets and set up bait stashes in all the right places and a smile on her face. She loved to watch him sail away early in the morning, only wishing she could go with him too.
Upon his return she would bring a flask of water and help him unload his catch to bring down to the market.
When she was eight, Diana's mother passed away. It hadn't been a spectacle and had been such a brief affliction. The fever set in quick and her mother faded within a few days. She was buried quietly under an old tree by the dock where her father's boat rocked in the bay. They said goodbye to her as they went to work each morning.
When Diana turned eleven, her father was in love again. He had been down at his usual market stall selling his fish and eel when a man set up his own stand beside him. This man sold bread loaves and simple baked goods. At something in the day they stopped glancing at one another and started talking. Names and jokes were exchanged far passed their usual market hours and Diana had come to find her father.
They became friends, and somewhere along the way they became more. One day as Diana was returning home from the docks. As she opened the door to their little kitchen, her father and the baker sat at the table pressing soft kisses to eachothers lips. For the first time in so long she saw her father really smile, so Diana closed the door and left them together.
At age thirteen Diana was also happy again. She worked with her father on his boat every day and relished the hard calluses rope-burned into her palms. The ladies of the town were often seen clutching their pearls and clucking their tounges as the walked by to see her jumping of the little boat in her fathers oldest trousers.
In the privacy of their home, Diana began to call the baker "Pa" when he stayed over for dinner. He had revealed some time ago that he had once been in the british army and knew a few things about swordplay. At the end of the night they would clear the table and push it to the corner of their little kitchen. Pa would take out his old sword and Diana would find her wood stick and the two would practice. Her father would watch from a chair in the corner with a small smile on his face.
By the misty ocean, they were truly a happy family, in that little shack which was filled with love.