Bruce slips through the halls like a shadow. Not a sound escapes him as he passes crew workers deck by deck. He's Three levels below where guests are allowed and still needs to go down another two before he makes it to the staff bunks.

He stops dead as a door swings open.

"What a bitch," A crew member says to another in Portuguese. They both walk out carrying armfuls of dirty towels.

"That's what I thought! Who drops their drink and blames it on me? And she didn't even bother looking down! Just snapped her fingers at me!"

Bruce uses their low blindspots to crouch down low. They pass without seeing him and he moves down the hall faster than before. One foot barely lands before he shifts his weight to the other. The staircase is easy work as he swings from the top railing and lands again on the next deck down.

Strangely, it reminds Bruce of his early years as Gotham's Dark Knight. Before he had six children and a Justice League to manage. It was just him and Alfred, pulling off case after case as the Rogues grew by the day. Eventually, Clark joined the tight number of confidents and it became a near-constant safety net, having someone like him always listening. Now, things are both more and less complicated.

There are far fewer gadgets, only the utility belt now hidden under Bruce's jacket. Back then, he thought himself overprepared with ten different pockets of smoke bombs, lock-picking tools, and anything else he could possibly think of. All of it just to end up underprepared for the schemes thrown at him.

Then again, who could predict needing shark repellent?

"David," A younger woman steps out from the elevator, ending Bruce's inappropriately timed nostalgia trip. He flattens against the wall and hopes she's more occupied by her phone call than looking around.

She steps out of the elevator, pauses to adjust the phone on her shoulder, then takes another. "No, I already said I got it." She pulls a key from her uniform. "You're making things harder than they need to be, Man. Just...No! No, just wait for me there-" With that, she's walking the opposite direction down the hall. Bruce follows her carefully until he can escape down the next flight of stairs.

That was sloppy of him. He knows better than to get distracted during a mission, but something about the setting makes reaching for his focus nearly impossible. He's already enjoyed far too much sun and alcohol than he should've.

A dry voice, not unlike Alfred's, plays in his mind. "Perhaps you've worked your brilliant mind too hard. A break would do you well."

But that's just it. He can't. Gotham needs him, and when it doesn't, his kids need him. Or the Justice League, or his friends, or anyone else. Bruce is always needed for something and even a few days in recovery can feel like letting all of his hard work slip away like sand. He knows it isn't sustainable, he's learned that lesson time and time again, but what else can he do?

There are drug lords on the loose and he needs to stop them. There is no 'ifs' or 'buts' about it. If Diana thought this was important enough to become League business, that he'll treat it with the utmost care.

The hall ahead is lined with doors on either side, not unlike the guest halls are. Each door has a name attached to the door, as well as the standard lock system. Bruce passes along eache name, reading them down in alphabetical order, until he stops at the one he's looking for.

Amy West.

Bruce pulls the outer casing off of the lock and connects a wire from its chip into his phone, just like he practiced with his own room's lock. Within minutes, Bruce reprograms the lock to respond to his guest key, scans the card, then returns the lock to its original state.

The cabin itself is just big enough to fit the essentials of living. A one-person bed, desk, dresser, and bathroom. Bruce checks the bed first, then the dresser and bathroom. When no evidence shows itself, he stations at the desk. The drawers are filled with documents, contacts and lists, but none of it seems out of the ordinary for an events directer.

A schedule for every single event and guest star over the next two weeks: a magician later tonight, standup comedy on Thursday, musicals, singings. Bruce copies down the list, just so he can have them for the investigation, but none strike him as odd or familiar. And with no pictures, he has no way of knowing who might've had plastic surgery and who hasn't.

There are requests too. A staff member asked for time off tomorrow due to food poisoning. Another needed a new key for their door. Maintenance requests and many more from actual guests. It's all here, but this isn't what he needs.

There is no reference to someone who may be leaving the ship while they're stationed in the Dominican Republic. Nowhere can Bruce see secret compartments or files about this drug trade. There's just...nothing.

Footsteps alert Bruce that someone's coming.

An alto, bored voice tells him it's Amy West.

"Shit," Bruce returns the desk to how it was before as his eyes scan for a quick escape. There's a window, but it's bolted shut and too close to the water for him to swing with his grapple. So, he goes to the air vents. They're large enough for him to just squeeze inside, but he'll have to be careful of getting stuck. Any wrong move could get him trapped.

His fingers flip open the fourth pocket of his belt, where the screwdriver is. He reaches in as the footsteps get closer, her voice coming in more muffled than a distant sound.

He's running out of-

His pocket is empty.

Bruce tries the next one, but that's empty too.

"Shit!" Bruce opens every single clasp on his belt, only to find it's been completely emptied. How? How?

"Clark, I need a lift! Now!" Bruce hisses through his teeth in lue of whispering. In seconds, Clark appears at the window and rips it clean out of the socket. There's damage, but it's preferable to Amy finding them snooping through her cabin. There's no way she could possibly connect this back to them.

"What happened? Was it-"

"Sh!" Bruce slaps a hand over Clark's mouth, then nods pointedly at the approaching footsteps.

Clark nods once, then lifts Bruce off the floor and pulls them both out of the cabin. Sea water splashes at their legs, instantly soaking Bruce's pants through. He waits for Clark to weld the window back in place with his head vision, then they're both floating up to their room balcony. The only reason they aren't spotted is due to the early hour and careful manuvering.

Bruce sits on the lawn chair with a sigh, the rustling wind making its attempts at drying him.

"So? What happened?" Clark repeats, his brows creased with concern.

"Nothing. I couldn't find a single thing on Amy before she came back." Defeat sounds bitter on Bruce's tongue.

Clark's expression morphs into one of contemplation. "Hm...and you're sure she didn't stash it away somewhere else?"

"Unless it's on a device I don't know about, I'm sure."

Only the wind breaks their silence.

"Maybe...Hm." Clark begins floating in circles, his way of pacing. "Maybe she really is clean and the last name is a coincidence."

"Or, maybe I wasn't subtle enough during dinner and she destroyed the evidence."

Clark stops with a hand on his chin. "Either way, this is a stopping point for Amy West until we get something concrete. But, I do have another lead to follow." Bruce waits for him to continue. "I saw someone with a metal jaw replacement at dinner. If I saw them again, I would probably recognize them. Then, it's just a rinse and repeat method until we find the real Adam West and Lydna Carter."

It's a long shot, but Bruce has nothing better to offer. "Fine. We'll spread out. There's a magic show later today in the auditorium. If the crowd is large enough, we may find them there."

"Oh, good thinking." Clark smiles and it floods Bruce with genuine comfort. "And while we're searing for our Metal Jaw, we can try to hack our way into the wifi and see if our criminals are using that."

Another good idea.

"Then our plan's set." Bruce turns to look through the balcony door at the girls who are still sleeping soundly. When Bruce shook them for the stealth mission this morning, Lois glared at him and Diana waved them off with a yawn. He'd rather wait until they're up to fill them in than make another risk on his life.

Without thinking, Bruce covers a yawn of his own.

Clark chuckles. "It's past your bedtime, isn't it."

Bruce scowls at him, even though it's true.

It earns him a richer laugh and it does things to Bruce's stomach. "Come on. We can afford a few hours of rest before we're on the hunt again."

He goes to argue but decides against it. Rest...would be nice, actually.

Sliding the balcony door open as quietly as possible -Diana still groans at the rustle of wind that throws curls into her face- Bruce and Clark settle back into their shared bed. They lay back-to-back, facing the opposite ends of the room.

The contact is warm and welcome. That, paired with the rising sun, Bruce can do little to fight of the sleep he's needed.

When Bruce shares their plans going forward, Diana agrees readily. Now, they stand together with their arms linked as they head into the auditorium for this supposed magic show.

Bruce has never liked magic shows. Correction, he hasn't liked them since becoming Batman. Too many times has he woken up surrounded by water and his entire body chained. The Joker especially got a kick out of watching him perform escapist tricks until they moved onto something closer to their modern dynamic.

But given they aren't in Gotham and this was Bruce's idea to start with, he really has no choice but to sit through it and endure.

They step through the main doors into a wide auditorium, roughly the size of the one at Gotham High. Voices echo against the curtained walls as guests settle down where they're directed by the crew members. This isn't typically an assigned seat show, but given its magic and their pick of volunteers has to be rigged from the start, Bruce finds nothing suspicious about it.

"This is nothing like the theaters on Themyscira," Diana mutters. "It feels so...inclosed. And it smells like wood varnish."

"The acoustics are worse too," Bruce says. What he wouldn't give to view an authentic Greek play by the Amazons.

A crew member comes to escort them down the rows. Bruce lets Diana take in the scenery as he instead scans for any signs of Amy West or...well, anything that catches his eye. He can't much see the Metal Jaw -he hates that Clark has him using that name now- but he watches regardless.

"Right here," they stop near the front row at the end. Sitting beside the two open seats are Clark and Lois.

Bruce settles down beside Clark with a flash of irritation. "I suppose word has gotten out that we're a group."

"That's what we get for letting Lois make friends." Clark gives said woman a jesting glare. She snubs her nose at him.

This is fine. It's fine. They're all sharing a room, so it was only a matter of time before people connected some dots. So long as they don't stand out too much, nothing should go amiss. They're just a group of friends. That's it.

"I feel like my chair is rocking. Is yours making this sound?" Clark shuffles in his chair, resulting in a slight clicking noise.

Bruce looks down to see its welding has come undone near the floor. "It's just old. You'll be fine."

Before Bruce can sit up properly, Clark leans down to whisper in his ear. The feeling of hot breath sends a shiver down his spine. "Nothing yet, but I'll tell you if I find Metal Jaw."

A curt nod and Bruce sits up again. He fixes his hair with one hand and grabs Diana's with his other. When she turns to look at him, he simply smiles, then stares ahead at the empty stage. They have to keep up some appearances.

Finally and dreadfully, the lights dim and chatter slows to a halt. As vibrant music echoes from the speakers, the spotlights flash in colors over the opening curtains. A voice plays out above it all.

"Ladies and gentlemen, put your hands together for The Mystical, Magical Galifianakis!"

A magician comes walking out as the music ups in volume. He smiles and waves, soaking in the attention of the roaring crowd before he has yet to do anything.

Bruce stands corrected. The moment he steps into the center of the stage; he does a full spin, and his entire outfit changes from blue to red, then to yellow. Knowing it's all a play of angles and lighting somehow makes it more impressive.

Not that real magic is any walk in the park. There's a reason he doesn't dare touch it with a fifty-foot pole.

The magician is loud and exuberant as he presents his tricks. It starts with cards, as most of them do. Then, he does a few 'removed' finger tricks that get the crowd on edge. There's a thing with sand, an Oreo trick, and another card one.

"Now, since I hath proven myself," the magician's body changes. He's not nervous but close to it. Tense, maybe? A more impressive trick is coming up, then. "I shall do what none other hath done! For this miracle, I must asketh for a chosen guest! One pooowerful in the arts of love and romance!"

The spotlights flash across the room as a tremolo plays in the music. It's a tactic to get the audience anxious, even though he's obviously going to choose one of his disguised assistants-

"You there! I see your power!"

The light stops.

Right. Over. Bruce.

"No..." He groans quietly, but Diana and Clark are already pushing him out of his chair.

"But not just you! Bring you lovely woman along with you, for fate shall decide your match!"

Taking his cane in hand, Bruce begrudgingly walks up to the stage. Thankfully, Diana is in much better spirits about being chosen, even if his last statement made no sense.

God, they're probably going to make him lie down in a box and get sawed in half. Or he'll get swords pierced through his body while the magician cackles about the smell of blood.

They step on stage and Diana wraps her arm around his waist. Either to steady him or make them seem closer, he isn't sure, but the gesture is appreciated regardless.

"I see your cane, Sir, so I ask little of you but your faith," The magician holds out his hands like he's talking them down from attacking him. "So, if you would..."

"Diana."

"Diana! A strong name! Yes, Mrs. Diana! Come right this way and sit just so- perfect!"

They have Diana in a wooden chair in the middle of the stage. She isn't held down or locked up, but Bruce still can't help but grip his cane tighter.

The Joker is going to smash a piano over her head.

"I shall place this curtain over thine head-"

The Madhatter has already hypnotized the entire audience. He's going to make them jump off the ship one by one until Batman complies.

"Lovely! Now wait there as I work my magic!"

A riddle is going to appear above their heads. If he doesn't answer all three correctly, then Diana will be nothing but bone and gore. Just like- like Jas-

"Ready, Bruce?" Diana's voice comes from under the massive sheet thrown over her head. It's grounding.

"Ready, Darling!" Bruce swallows.

The magician counts down with the audience from ten very, painfully slow. He draws out the last two numbers with a flash of his fake wand, a broad smile on his face. Then, as they've finished it off, he rips the cloth from Diana's head and-

"Clark?!"

Sitting exactly where Diana just was is now Clark. He looks up at Bruce with a little wave.

Bruce's head snaps to their seats. Next to Lois, Diana also waves.

What?

The crowd goes wild. They're cheering and clapping and whistling in joy of the trick. The...the magic? Bruce doesn't know anymore. One moment he was fighting off the scent of iron and now, he's watching as the magician takes Clark's hand and bows with him.

Bruce can't help but clap as well. He's never been so surprised in his life.

"Give it up for the lovers of the evening!"

Bruce pauses. "Lovers?" He asks the magician, but they're quickly moving on.

"Here, Young Man! As a gift to your hus- uh, your friend!" The magician hands the fake wand off to Clark. Once it's passed, the white top explodes into a bundle of beautiful flowers. Clark turns and hands it over to Bruce with a shy smile.

The crowd coos, for some reason.

"That is all for tonight, my lovelies! See me again at five o'clock Saturday! I shall perform a few more delicious miracles at the buffet station!"

Everything passes in a haze. Bruce barely remembers to fake a limp as he walks back to the girls, who await them with shining smiles and laughter. As a group, they retreat to their room. No one can stop talking about the show.

"That was brilliant!" Diana's loud, booming laughter fills their small room. "Never before have I been so eager to help in a trick! That man may not be a match for the Gods, but he's quite the performer!"

"I almost shat myself when that guy came up from the floor!" Lois snorts.

Clark's laugh is loud like a thunderstorm. It rolls on in waves as he holds his sides. "I almost stomped on his head! I had no idea that was a trap door!"

Bruce shakes his head in an attempt to clear it. "Wait, wait. How did he do it?"

They all start talking at once, stop, then Clark begins again. "So, when they put that cloth over Diana, there was a plastic maniquine already in there. So, Diana opened the trap door below the seat, put the mannequin where she was sitting, then crawled under the stage to where I was sitting. Of course, I had already crawled under there too right after you two went up on stage, so it was a fast change for me. The longest part was getting her back into my seat."

"...huh."

"You should've seen his face!" Clark turns back to the girls. "His eyes were so wide! Who knew a simple magician could pull one over Batman?!"

"I know, right-"

Bruce holds up a hand to stop them again. "Alright, the show was impressive, but we weren't there for fun." He catches Lois giving him a look, but he ignores it. "Clark, did you see our suspect?"

Clark's face falls into a serious, more gentle smile. "Yes, I did! It's a forty, maybe fifty-year-old woman. Super blonde hair and a lead wedding ring with rubies. I memorized her heartbeat." Clark's eyes narrow as he stares down at nothing. Or, wait. He's looking through the ship's floors. "Room...F46? Maybe 45."

"Perfect." This is far more than he could've hoped for tonight and all of it is thanks to Clark.

He feels the urge to say it, to thank Clark for focusing past all the excitement on what really matters but the words stick to his tongue. He swallows them down as the conversation shifts back to the show.

They have to get ready for dinner, Bruce knows. The girls will take longer to get ready, so he should really get started now if he wants to ensure there's time for him to properly dress.

Yet, he can't stop watching the way Clark retells the story time and time again. He watches those unnaturally blue eyes shine, those perfect teeth open and close around every word. He watches Clark's hands wave around, nearly hitting someone a few times.

Whatever emotion settles in the bed of Bruce's heart is wrapped up tight and shoved to the side.