A/N: Hey guys! I don't really remember why I wrote this, but I did kind of like how it turned out, so here it is! Sorry if it seems purple-prosey, this is a great example of how I tend to write when I'm tired. XD

Enjoy!

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If there was one odd thing she really liked to do, it was swim.

She didn't need air. She could feel that it was definitely healthier to have it, but she didn't need it. It was something about an ability to absorb energy from sources other than oxygen somehow, if she remembered the Professor's excited scientific ramblings correctly, but once in a while the reasons behind anything she did didn't really matter.

Water down her windpipe sent her coughing and sputtering like anyone, but when she was prepared for it, she could hold her breath for ages.

And so she did. She'd dive down swiftly in an arching loop, faster than any bird, and slip into the water with a small but powerful splash.

She'd glide down into the shallows, where the sun lit the seagrass and enormous turtles grazed. Fish darted off at the sight of her, but sometimes dolphins would come smiling to play.

She'd laugh and join them as they flew, gliding through the water more gracefully than she soared through air. Hair streaming behind, she'd dart in and out of the pod, twisting and turning with them. They'd then turn to laugh at her, their happy, clicking laughter that was never meant any other way then to show gleeful gratitude. Their blue-gray hides glistened smooth in the sunshine, and they'd throw their heads back and laugh again when she'd pet them.

She would grin, and they would whistle and flip their tails in joyful goodbyes as other business called them. As they slid off in chatter and song, she'd look to see where she was.

The water was deeper there, and sunbeams glittered as they filtered downward until they found nothing to illuminate in the end, and so they tapered to a point in the waters. Light glistened from above, and far down below were huge rocks and corals of all shapes and sizes.

Splintered, rotting wood sat stuck in crevices and cracks, long left there from some old boat or dock. There was even a treasure chest or two, covered in seaweeds, but WordGirl decided to let them be. Someone else would be enthralled to find something like that, and it wasn't like she needed them. She had other things she preferred here.

Down there in the deeps were a few friends of hers.

If she swallowed a bit to keep her ears from popping with the pressure—she could withstand little to no air pressure easily, but too much more than earth's surface made her sinuses achy—then she could sink down deeper, until she reached the old shipwreck.

It was a large ship, sunk decades ago, if she remembered correctly. Judging by the gaping hole in it's hull, it'd run aground on something major, but what it could've hit out here in the open water made WordGirl wonder. There was never much time for wondering in that place though; familiar faces appeared too quickly.

One was an orange octopus, the figure of which was almost famous in her town. He rarely visited the surface, but he was quite friendly, and enjoyed the company of the superhero. She had seen no other octopuses in her excursions, so she had to deduce that he was the only one.

He was very smart, and if WordGirl could talk underwater, she wouldn't be surprised if he could understand her. She'd found him carefully extracting ships in bottles he'd found, as well as collecting trash to a safe cavern in the rocks, where no sea life would be harmed by it.

Another of her sea friends was an orca, another a whale and one a manta ray. They were a tad less intriguing, but playful, and the whale particularly enjoyed being scratched under the chin. She also met a large sunfish; flat as a pancake and twice as friendly.

Otters were near there too, rummaging the long kelp gardens for snacks and friends, and they—the young ones in particular—were far too adorable for the heroine to resist playing a good game of tag with. But it only lasted for so long before she'd realize how long ago she was expected home.

Most of the time she'd bid her aquatic friends farewell, before gliding straight up, faster and faster until she shot out of the water at tremendous speeds, soaking sailors and scaring birds. But once in awhile she'd still feel no shortage of breath (though, if you could get her to admit it, maybe a little winded), and take a tiny detour.

She'd speed through the water, deep then shallow, and through the inlet of the bay. She'd shoot along the shore, just deep enough to have enough gliding room, streaking under the bridge with only a slightly lit trail of rippling water on the surface behind her.

Children and fishermen alike would stare down in wonder at the queer red figure whipping around rock and reef like she'd done it all her life, but she never did notice them.

After looping her circuit around the bay, she'd sail through the Fair Bay inlet again and back to the beach, where she would suddenly appear to shoot straight out of the water with a sudden woosh and stay there, suspended in midair. Always short of breath but exhilarated from the rush of adrenaline, she'd float down to the shore and land to walk a bit and stretch out her muscles, often shivering and panting but happy.

Nearly always there ended up being at least a number of fans of hers on the beach, and sometimes she felt almost a tiny bit shy being met with a roar of applause when she was soaking wet and weak in the knees. She'd grin tiredly at them nonetheless, wring out her hair and cape the best she could, then walk a block or so to cool down before taking off for home.

When she arrived, she was sometimes met with worried remarks for being late and curious ones for having damp hair and being a little out of breath. The explanation was usually something about someone's sprinkler or a sudden downpour at the park, and though her parents usually shook their heads and told her to go dry her hair before she caught cold, Becky would most often just trudge quietly upstairs with a towel around her head and flop onto her comfortable mattress.

When Bob would look up from the newspaper, take off his glasses with a concerned squeak and question as to where she'd been, he would usually only be met with a tuckered-out sigh as the superhero drifted off to sleep.

And then, she'd dream of stars.