Baywatch fic: Learning to Breathe (3/4)

[faye_dartmouth]

PART ONE
PART TWO
PART THREE
PART FOUR



-o-

Mitch still sort of wanted to try snapping Lawson in half, but he still had priorities.

To the point: Brody.

Upright and mobile, that made him in better condition than the day before, but they both knew that today was still a step in the wrong direction.

What direction, neither of them were sure at this point.

What Mitch did know, however, was that it was a conversation they were going to have.

Now.

“You told me this morning, we’d deal with this if it got worse,” he said, waiting for the air to settle in Lawson’s wake. He looked at Brody hard. “It got worse.”

Brody sighed, sinking back down to the bench. “It’s not worse.”

“It’s sure as hell not better,” Mitch said, a little sharper than he might have intended. He bobbed his head toward the door. “That promise you made to Lawson; you know as well as I do that it’s not one you can keep.”

“And you think a doctor can help?” Brody asked, his doubt evident in his tone.

“Sure, why not?” Mitch said. “I mean, unless you’ve got any ideas you’re not sharing.”

Slumping back, Brody leaned against the wall. “I’ve had them before,” he said. “The headaches. My foster parents, the last ones, they had me looked at by a few doctors back in Iowa.”

“And?” Mitch prompted.

“Nothing,” Brody said. He shrugged his shoulders. “They went away eventually. Always did.”

Mitch latched onto that. “Always?”

Brody knew he’d given away more than he intended. “They flare up sometimes, that’s all,” he explained. “Like, you know. When I was a teenager, switching homes. In college, trying to keep my grades up. They went away, though.”

Mitch considered this with some seriousness. “How long did they last?”

“A few weeks, usually,” Brody said.

“And this time? How long has it been?” Mitch asked.

Brody lifted his eyes, and Mitch could discern the way Brody was searching for the best version of the truth.

“No lies,” Mitch said flatly. “How long?”

Brody’s jaw worked, and he eventually diverted his eyes when he answered. “A few months, on and off,” he said. He looked up, as if he was desperate for Mitch to believe it; as if he were desperate to believe it himself. “They’ll go away.”

Mitch exhaled in frustration. “But how?”

“When things are better, you know,” Brody said. “When shit, I don’t know, calms down.”

“You’re training for the Olympics,” Mitch reminded him. “That’s another year -- and then some. I don’t think it’s going to get better before then.”

The logic was hard to refute, and Brody knew it. He closed his eyes, shaking his head. “Maybe I should just quit,” he said, visibly deflated again. “I mean, who am I even kidding at this point?”

Well, that went from zero to sixty pretty fast. One second, Brody was insisting he could win; the next, he was giving up. Mitch’s plan to talk about the doctor seemed suddenly secondary, now. This wasn’t solely a medical issue; this was striking at the very essence of what they were trying to do out here. “Don’t talk like that,” Mitch scolded, feeling his own stomach reeling at the suggestion that the last year had been a long series of sacrifices for nothing. “Look how far you’ve gotten. You can’t quit.”

Morosely, Brody opened his eyes to look at Mitch. “I can’t?” he asked ruefully. “Because I kind of think I can.”

Mitch shook his head. “You’re tired and you’re talking shit,” he said. “You don’t mean that.”

But Brody’s sigh was wearier than ever. “I’m not a kid anymore, Mitch,” he said. “Most of the racers out there -- the ones expected to qualify -- they’re younger than me. The training, the diet, the traveling -- they’ve got the stamina for it. I don’t anymore. I mean, look at me, Mitch. Taken out by a headache. That’s not even a legit injury; that’s the shit that’s in your head and everyone knows it.”

The litany was more than Mitch expected, and it was keenly insightful into a lot of things. Brody wasn’t scared of being told there was something wrong with him. He was scared of finding out there was nothing wrong with him. That this was in his head, his fault, his weakness. Not going to the doctor was a way for Brody to hold onto the illusion that he was in control of his own mental determination.

Brody shrugged again, even more defeated than before. “Even if I could beat the headaches, my body would give out sooner or later,” he said. “I’m not in any shape to qualify.”

Mitch was shaking his head before he’d properly thought out a rebuttal. That wasn’t important, though. His impetus was valid. He knew Brody. He knew his fortitude. When he was clear, focused and determined, he could do anything.

Even qualify for the Olympics with blinding headaches.

This was something different.

This was more than headaches. It was headaches and sobriety. It was a fear of the water and a plea deal that put his life in jeopardy. It was Brody, trying to figure out who the hell he was and what the hell his purpose in life was.

Brody might need a doctor, Mitch had no doubt about that. But right now, he needed a friend to remind him what mattered more.

“You’re talking bullshit because your head hurts and you can’t think straight,” Mitch said. He sat down next to Brody, looking at him intently. “When your head is clear, nothing can stop you, man. I’m not talking shit, dude. You know that’s not how I do it. You own the field; you belong in the water. These past six months have proven that to me time and again.”

Somehow, the praise only made Brody waver more. “I’m barely keeping this together,” he said, voice wobbling precariously. He inhaled raggedly. “I think I’m losing it.”

“Losing what?” Mitch asked.

Brody laughed, a breathless, short, near-hysterical sound. “My edge. My speed. My sanity. All of it. I’m losing me.”

It was a stark admission, and it would be easy to chalk it up to bluff and melodrama, all things considered. But it was more than that. Brody meant it, every word. If the quiet fear in his voice didn’t convince Mitch, the deep panic in his eyes would have sold it.

A year ago, when Mitch talked Brody into this crazy quest, racing in the pool had made Brody come alive. He’d been eager and invigorated, ready to conquer.

Today, he was beat down and exhausted, running on fumes.

Mitch had worked hard, especially over the last six months, to be an encouraging figure, a supportive friend. He’d known that Brody would need someone to hold him up when things got hard.

And things were hard now.

Mitch just had to wonder if there were limits.

If there was a fine line between being a supportive friend and forcing Brody to finish something that might break him. To make matters harder, he knew Brody would do this for him, and Mitch had leveraged that in the past. But that meant Mitch bore some responsibility here. If Brody wanted to quit, he would look for Mitch’s permission.

The question was, naturally, should Mitch give it?

Should he let Brody walk away, quit? Should he let Brody end this journey before seeing it through to completion?

This was for Brody, after all. This wasn’t Mitch’s personal journey. Letting Brody off the hook would be easy, honestly. Taking him back to Baywatch for good, going back to life as normal -- well, that would be Mitch’s perfect world.

And it wasn’t that Brody wouldn’t be happy.

He would be.

Brody loved Baywatch. They both know that was where home was.

Yet, there would be the lingering question. The niggling doubt. The unfulfilled ambition. The deferred dream.

He knew Brody wanted this. He just didn’t know if Brody’s body could hold up to the abuse necessary for the realization of his dream.

Mitch still wanted to take Brody to a doctor, but he knew that taking him now, in his unstable emotional state, would only reinforce his doubts. It wouldn’t empower Brody; it might destroy him. Mitch wasn’t ready to do that to him, not yet.

If that meant putting this off another week, then Mitch would.

As long as he had another plan in the meantime.

Fortunately for everyone, Mitch was good at coming up with plans. Especially under pressure.

With his own sigh, he nudged Brody’s arm. “Come on.”

Brody looked at him, not sure what to think.

Mitch gave an indifferent shrug. “We need to cool down, not warm up,” he said. “And you need food.”

Brody looked increasingly vexed. “But--”

“But nothing,” Mitch said, getting to his feet and dragging Brody with him. “You can’t quit anything on an empty stomach.”

“But what I said--”

“If the doctor can wait, then so can that,” Mitch concluded for him. “So get your ass moving, and let’s get something to eat.”

Brody still looked confused, but he had no argument. As Brody was prone to do when faced with orders from Mitch, he complied.

Mitch led them out, hoping like hell he was making the right choice.

-o-

Mitch made a point of going out to dinner. Brody had a headache, so Mitch picked a quieter venue, but he could tell that Brody wasn’t quite at the tipping point today. He was still mobile and upright and talking, which meant that he could hold out a little longer. Although Mitch had no way of knowing for sure, he was confident that Brody’s spotty diet wasn’t helping matters, so if they made a point of eating someplace different, it might actually help.

Brody maintained a decent conversation throughout, and they talked about the latest updates from back home. That perked Brody up even more. He told Mitch with minimal prompting about how things were going with Summer, and they reflected with some amusement over how Stephanie was probably driving CJ crazy with her obsessively detailed leadership style.

Through it all, Mitch was able to watch Brody eat his entire meal and drink three whole glasses of water. By the time they made their way back to the hotel, Brody still looked like he needed an early night, but he was as upbeat as Mitch had seen him in days.

That said, Mitch wasn’t about to push his luck. Brody was still recovering -- physically and mentally -- and while Mitch couldn’t fully address the emotional issues, he could take care of the physical ailments in simple enough order tonight. With Brody’s stomach full, he instructed the kid to take a long, hot shower before effectively tucking him into bed with a gruff goodnight.

Was it weird for him to talk about tucking in a grown man?

Whatever. Mitch knew his relationship with Brody was a little past weird at this point. That was how family was, he figured. He didn’t know how to explain it; more importantly, he didn’t have to.

He waited until Brody was well and truly asleep, until his breathing had evened out and his body had fully relaxed. Then, he got up and went out the door.

With the physical under control, Mitch had his plan for the emotional to put into action.

-o-

It wasn’t a long trip.

In fact, it was right next door.

Standing outside of Lawson’s door, Mitch rapped his fist on it and waited. He heard the sound of the TV inside, but no one came to the door. He half suspected that Lawson knew it was him; that was why he was ignoring it.

Mitch would not be swayd, however. He knocked again. “Lawson!” he called. “We need to talk!”

He didn’t offer his name. He also didn’t offer a reason. Lawson would know who it was, and really, the two of them, they only had one thing in common. As much as Lawson didn’t want to open the door, he wasn’t a complete moron. He would know that putting of Mitch would never work.

Mitch knocked again, somehow making the sound more insistent than before. Finally, from inside, he heard Lawson mutter under his breath as he approached the door. Mitch waited, ever so patient, as Lawson undid the locks and opened the latch.

Noticeably, he opened the door just a crack. Enough to see Mitch, but conveniently out of reach.

Mitch thought it was a little cute, how Lawson thought that mattered. Not that Mitch had violence on the mind, but he was steadfastly determined to have his conversation and he’d prefer to have it face to face, like men.

“I want to talk about Brody’s training schedule,” Mitch said without preamble.

Lawson stiffened immediately, shaking his head. “Uh-uh, no way,” he says. “We laid ground rules, and the most important was that I get to determinate his training. You can do whatever you want outside of that, but I get to dictate what happens in the pool.”

Technically, this was true. And Mitch was good for his word. That said, circumstances changed.

Sometimes dramatically.

In this context, he would try diplomacy. “I know you’re frustrated with how training’s going,” Mitch ventured. “I think maybe we can tweak the schedule to maximize Brody’s energy levels.”

The door opened slightly more as Lawson made a face. “He’s already behind as it is,” he said. “We can’t afford more lax days.”

“He’s overworked, plain and simple,” Mitch reasoned. “Those headaches, they’re not a coincidence.”

Lawson shook his head, put off by mitch’s concern almost instantly. “You’re making too big of deal out of this,” he said firmly. “Athletes at this level are checked out by doctors all the time. There’s nothing wrong with him. This thing? It’s in his head, plain and simple.”

“Uh, yeah,” Mitch said, hoping that the irony wasn’t lost on Lawson. “That’s kind of the problem.”

Lawson picked up on it, but it only elicited an eyeroll. “What I mean to say is that when you give into this crap, you make it worse,” he said. “This is mind over matter. It’s just a question of whether or not Brody has the mettle.”

“But it’s limiting his ability to race--”

“So he doesn’t have the mettle?” Lawson pounced. The door was a little wider open now, and Lawson’s disposition had taken an overtly adversarial bent. “Is this your friendly way of telling me that I should cut and run now before I waste any more of my time?”

Mitch let out a sharp breath through his nose, flattening his lips in annoyance. “No, I’m telling you that you can get what you want if you stop thinking of your athlete as a tool and start seeing him as a person.”

Lawson crossed his arms coolly over his chest. “I already told you, that’s not my job.”

It was exasperating that he had to explain this. It was almost nonsensical, really. No one should have to be reminded to be an actual human being, even if it was explicitly stated in a work contract. “You could make it your job,” Mitch suggested in a manner that was as non confrontational as possible. “You might be surprised with how well it goes.”

Lawson snorted. “Or I could find myself another racer, one who doesn’t have head issues.”

Mitch arched his eyebrows. Compassion was not a thing with Lawson, clearly. Pragmatism had shown some viability. The only viability. “One that can take you to the next Olympics? We both know we’re too close to trials. If you don’t take someone to this Olympics, you’re doomed to become irrelevant. You’ll never get a big name again.”

The look on Lawson’s face contorted, his arms crossing a little tighter over his chest. “Screw you, Buchannon.”

Now it was time for the compromise. “All I’m asking is that we lighten the training load this week,” he said. “Putting him in the pool every day offers a diminishing return on the investment. Cut it in half.”

It was a pitch, an opening bid.

Lawson, at least, seemed to consider it. “One day off prior to the start of competition.”

“One?” Mitch asked incredulously.

“We’re a week out,” Lawson protsted.

Mitch shook his head, readying his next counter. “Two,” he insisted. “Including tomorrow.”

Lawson eyed him, uneasy and suspicious. Finally, after an extended consideration, he nodded. “Fine,” he said. “Two days off, including tomorrow.”

Mitch nodded in a perfunctory fashion. “Pleasure doing business with you, Lawson, as always.”

Lawson unfurled his arms, rolling his eyes. “You suck, Buchannon,” he muttered as he closed the door in Mitch’s face.

It was an insult Mitch could live with; he could be the bigger man.

Especially when he’d gotten what he’d wanted.

-o-

Mitch stayed up a little bit that night, mostly to do some research on the local area. He’d never been to Germany before, never been to Europe. There had to be some sights worth seeing.

And now he was going to have the time to see them.

He wanted something engaging and inviting. Something that had nothing to do with swimming and carried no pressure. He wanted things in the area, easy to get to, maybe with walking. Fresh air, parks, the works.

By the time he was done, it was pretty late. He figured that was a necessary tradeoff. He needed an itinerary for the day off he’d just carved out.

If that happened to let him stay up and watch Brody sleep, then that was perfectly acceptable as well.

-o-

They both slept late in the morning. Mitch, having gone to be later, definitely needed it. Brody, who was emotionally worn out and physically exhausted still probably needed it more. When he saw the time, Brody proceeded to almost freak out until Mitch assured him it was no big deal.

“Lawson will have my ass for this,” Brody said, hurriedly going through his bag, searching for something clean to wear.

Doing laundry on the road was easier said than done. Mitch usually made quick friends with the front desk, but he had been preoccupied since landing in Germany. It didn’t help that Brody was looking through the bag of dirty clothes. Sometimes Mitch truly wondered how he had ever survived on his own.

“I’ve cleared it with Lawson,” he said, still lounging in his own bed. “We agreed that the schedule should have a little more downtime.”

Brody stopped rummaging, giving Mitch a deeply skeptical look. “There’s no way Lawson agreed to that.”

Mitch shrugged, willfully obtuse. “He did agree. Completely.”

Mitch’s certainty only made Brody more doubtful. “Did you threaten him?”

“I never threaten people,” Mitch said. “I merely present the truth to them with all stakes attached.”

This answer made Brody glower. “I’m not sure this is a good idea.”

“You don’t have to be sure,” Mitch said, stretching lazily. “I’ll be sure enough for both of us.”

Brody sighed, looking increasingly uncertain. “I should be in the pool.”

Mitch rolled his eyes as he threw the covers back and got out of bed. “You know I’m all in with you for this swimming thing, and I get it, the Olympics take a lot of work,” he said. “But that’s not the only thing in your life. You need to remember that now, going forward.”

“But the race--”

“Will be over one way or another in a week,” Mitch said. “A year after that, we’ll be through the Olympics. And then you have your whole life to live, but it’s not going to be any good if you don’t put a little energy into now.”

Brody was less skeptical now, but more concerned. “Are you saying Baywatch won’t want me?”

Mitch easily found a fresh pair of clothes for Brody. “I’m saying, remember that you are more than a swimmer, okay?” he said, throwing the outfit at Brody. “So stop worrying about the pool, and take the damn day.”

Brody had his doubts.

But he had his faith in Mitch, too.

Mitch wouldn’t lie: it was a hell of a thing to know which one was stronger.

-o-

To start, they went out for breakfast.

Like, out out.

Mitch took them walking out of the hotel, and he purposefully turned in away from the pool, knowing that Brody was following him step by step. When they found a cafe with open air seating, Mitch got them a table and ordered a generous breakfast for himself.

Tentative, Brody followed him. When Mitch gave him a long look during the ordering process, he ended up with a good sized breakfast of his own thanks to a waiter who thankfully spoke English.

“I’ve never had German food,” Mitch said as they waited. “At least, not in Germany. I’m not sure if I’m excited or scared.”

Brody cocked his head. “You’re never scared.”

“You bring out the best in me,” Mitch reminded him coyly. He gestured to the busy street around them, bustling with morning traffic as people hurried to work. “Besides, I’ve never spent much time away from the beach. This is all new to me.”

Brody followed his gaze, almost as if he were looking at the street for the first time.

Mitch shrugged as he continued. “It must be a little bit like old hat to you,” he said, observing Brody closely now. “You’ve done all of this before, four years ago.”

Looking a little embarrassed, Brody looked down. “I didn’t do this four years ago,” he said, nodding to the small table they were sharing. “I mean, I traveled all sorts of places, but I don’t know. I spent most of those in a pool. If I wasn’t in a pool, I was in a bar. You don’t really know much about a place when you’re drunk.”

It wasn’t exactly a reassuring admission, but Mitch was still somehow reassured. Brody’s history was Brody’s history, relevant only in how it had shaped him and how far he’d come. Sitting across from Mitch, sober and honest and real, he’d come a long way.

Mitch could see that.

He just wasn’t sure that Brody could see it.

“Well,” Mitch said, taking a breath and picking up his water. “This time, we’ll do it right. Both of us.”

Brody looked somewhat surprised by Mitch’s optimism. Surprised, and a little motivated. He smiled, nodding his head in agreement. “I’d like that,” he said. “I’d like that a lot.”

-o-

Breakfast was good. Mitch enjoyed the food well enough, but the fact that Brody ate everything on his plate made it better. Not to mention the fact that they didn’t have to rush, that the day was uniquely and entirely theirs.

Mitch hadn’t realized how long it’d been since they’d had a proper a day off, just the two of them. Training took up a lot of time, and rightly so, but Mitch had never totally accounted for the cost it had been exacting. On both of them.

In fact, mitch has grown so accustomed to the smell of chlorine that he’d nearly forgotten what fresh air smelled like. Someday, they’d make it back to the ocean, with the salty sea air rolling in off the bay. That would be a great day.

Still, Mitch would concede, this one was shaping up pretty good.

-o-

After breakfast, they did a little shopping for nothing in particular. Mitch started by dragging Brody into a shop next door, and within a block, Brody was all but begging Mitch to stop in store after store.

They weren’t exactly flush with cash, but they also hadn’t touched most of the miscellaneous funds from any of their travel stops. So they easily had a little cash to spend, and Mitch had to admit, he loved watching Brody shop. He was just so earnest in his excitement. How was Mitch supposed to say no to that?

Yes, he was aware this was the way a parent thought about their child.

No, that didn’t change a damn thing.

-o-

Brody purchased new jeans, a pair of sunglasses, a magnet and a coffee cup. He also picked up a t shirt and necklace for Summer before insisting that Mitch buy something for himself.

This was actually the most stressful part of the morning for Mitch. Eventually he bought some items for his fish tank, deeming them a souvenir for Little Mitch.

Stupid, maybe.

But, damn, it sure made Brody smile.

-o-

They ate lunch at another open air cafe, and Brody ordered even more robustly. Throughout the meal, he was chatty in the way he hadn’t been since the last time they’d been in California. Honestly, it didn’t matter what the food tasted like. It was a really good lunch.

-o-

It wasn’t a coincidence that they ended up outside the art museum. Mitch had planned their route last night. But they were in line, paying for tickets when Brody finally realized what was up.

Despite his obvious trepidation, Brody waited until they were inside the first exhibit to lean close to Mitch in apparent concern.

“ Are you sure we’re supposed to be here?” Brody asked in a whisper, glancing nervously at the other patrons.

“Sure,” Mitch said, shrugging a little. “We paid for tickets. It’s a public museum.”

“Exactly,” Brody said.

Mitch frowned, moving toward the first piece. It was obviously historical, painted in a classical style, depicting people in strange clothing and awkward postures. “Exactly what?” he asked, reading the information about the painting as if that might provide some insight.

“Why are we in a museum?” Brody whispered, even more hushed and urgent than before.

“Because that’s what people do,” Mitch said. “It’s a way to learn more about a country, to appreciate other cultures.”

These were things Mitch had confidence in, though mostly in theory. Truth be told, Mitch didn’t travel much, and he didn’t spend a lot of time in museums. Western history had never interested him much, and he certainly had no taste for classical art. He was just as much a fish out of water here as Brody.

The critical difference wasn’t that Mitch was somehow willing when Brody wasn’t. No, the difference was that Mitch believed he had a place. Brody, after two years, still believed that he only belonged in the water. The ocean, the pool, it didn’t matter. Brody derived his purpose, his sense of self from that.

That wasn’t all bad, either. Mitch defined himself by the water as well. But he’d come to realized, thanks to Brody, that he was more than that.

He could only hope that Brody realized it, too.

Even if it meant walking through a German art museum.

“But,” Brody stammered for a moment, clearly at a loss. “Why?”

The question was almost a little desperate, as if Brody were truly grappling with the concept.

Looking at him, Mitch knew he probably was. “Because,” Mitch said. “It can teach you about yourself.”

Two years, halfway around the world, and Mitch still had to say it.

And Brody simply looked more bewildered than ever.

Mitch stopped, turning to look at Brody fully now. “Are you going to tell me you’ve never been to a museum?”

Brody looked around, anxiously, as if trying to remember.

“Not for a school trip? A vacation?”

Turning wide eyes back to Mitch, Brody shrugged. “I was a foster kid,” he said. “Cultural enrichment wasn’t a thing we did.”

There was no reason to suspect Brody was lying. It was just that Mitch couldn’t even imagine. “Not even a field trip?”

“I moved around a lot,” Brody said. “Lots of swim meets in high school.”

“Seriously?” Mitch asked.

Brody glanced around, as if increasingly self conscious. “Why would I be kidding about that?”

Shaking his head, Mitch knew he was right. “Right, well,” he said. “There’s no time like the present to start.”

Wetting his lips, Brody leaned close to Mitch again. “I don’t know what to do, though.”

Mitch leaned close as well. “For starters, you don’t have to whisper?”

“What?” Brody whispered back. Startled, he processed what had been said. In his regular voice, he leaned back somewhat. “Really?”

Mitch nodded. “Really.”

This was something of a revelation to Brody, who looked equally surprised and mollified. “Oh.”

“Beyond that, just be open to things,” Mitch said. He gestured to the painting in front of them. “Look at stuff, read about it. Try to learn something, think about how it makes you feel.”

Brody appeared to study the painting almost for the first time. His brow furrowed. “This is like, art, though.”

“Yeah,” Mitch said.

“And we’re, like, lifeguards.”

Mitch looked at Brody, long, hard and purposeful. “We exist outside the water, Brody,” he said with a sage nod. “Don’t forget that.”

-o-

The museum was okay in the end. They both got kind of bored of classical art, no matter how much Mitch tried to talk it up. The sculptures were more interesting, though Brody seemed mildly concerned about the amount of nudity allowed in art. Brody, as it turned out, was quite interested in modern art, and the more random and abstract something looked, the more he seemed to engage with it.

They spent several hours perusing the museum and its grounds, and Mitch took Brody to the gift shop and let him buy a poster of his favorite print because of course he did.

Afterward, they went for a walk in a nearby park. When they passed an ice cream stand, Mitch went ahead and bought Brody a double scoop cone because that was totally what you did on someone’s first trip to a museum.

Even if they happened to be in their 20s.

Sitting on a bench overlooking a fountain, Mitch had to think this was going pretty well. Sure, he knew that they’d come this far for racing. He knew Brody would be back in the pool tomorrow. He knew it’d all be on the line in less than a week.

But this was why he’d come.

This was how they belonged.

Mitch and Brody. A partnership, a team. A family.

Taking a bite of his cone, Brody laughed. “Lawson would be pissed if he knew I was eating ice cream.”

“There’s a lot Lawson doesn’t need to know,” Mitch said, and his indifference wasn’t feigned. Lawson was the least of his concerns right now. “And you don’t need to think about him or anything related to training today.”

Brody took a few more bites, contemplating that. “I never thought about it before, all the training,” he said. “The last time I went to the Olympics, I just kept my head down and went for it. Never thought twice about anything.”

The day was warming up, and the sun was out. The park was full, even for a weekday afternoon. “Well, it got you pretty far,” Mitch said after several moments of silence. He cast his eyes toward Brody. “But it didn’t end the way you wanted.”

“You think?” Brody quipped ruefully. Enough time had passed, but more importantly, enough trust had been built between them. Brody was able to smile. “I just never realized how hard it was, you know? Last time it seemed so easy until it wasn’t. And this time, it’s just so much harder.”

Mitch gave a one shouldered shrug in Brody’s direction. “And maybe it’ll end the way you want.”

Brody studied his cone for a moment. “Or maybe it’ll end before I get there at all.”

“Hey,” Mitch said, nudging Brody this time with his shoulder. “Don’t talk like that.”

Brody took another bite and shook his head. “Maybe this just isn’t what I’m meant to do,” he said, licking to keep the cone from melting. “I mean, maybe I’m just the kind of guy who gets so close but never quite gets there.”

“You have two gold medals,” Mitch reminded him. “Why the hell would you say that?”

“I don’t know,” Brody said. “I have two gold medals and still tanked my career. I’m kind of a screw up.”

“You didn’t tank it,” Mitch said. “If you’d really tanked it, you wouldn’t be here.”

Brody took another bite of cone, catching a bit of ice cream before it fell to the pavement between them. “But who’s to say I can finish?” he asked. “I mean the headaches…”

Mitch shook his head, sitting back as he crossed his arms over his chest. “I still say we can see a doctor.”

“But maybe it’s a sign, Mitch,” Brody said.

“A sign that you’re working too hard?”

With a weary sigh, Brody shook his head as well. “A sign that maybe I’m not supposed to go back to the Olympics. A sign that I’m not supposed to be here, doing this.”

Mitch narrowed his eyes at Brody, fixing him unyieldingly. “But you’re already here,” he said. “Despite everything -- even the headaches. You’re here.”

“Because of you,” Brody protested. His cone was starting to drip again, and this time Brody allowed it. “I’m here because of you. There’s no way I could have done any of this without you. I would have flamed out months ago.”

“You’re underselling yourself,” Mitch said before Brody could even take a breath. “I know how hard you’ve worked, how far you’ve come. You’ve done that, you. I mean, we all need help in life, but you’ve made the choices, you’ve made the sacrifices and here you are. All the shit you’ve been through.”

Brody cocked his head, quizzical. “You mean nearly getting killed by a crazy woman or growing up in foster care?”

“I was talking about the headaches,” Mitch said. “But you know, either way.”

This time, Brody did salvage some of his cone, cleaning it up as best he could with a few licks. “It’s really kind of the same thing, when you think about it.”

At that, Mitch chuckled. “Yeah, I‘d bet it is.”

Brody took another lick, finishing it off in a few more bites. “I’m glad you’re here, Mitch.”

Mitch nodded. The two of them, united and honest. All the obstacles never felt all that insurmountable like this. “No place else I’d be.”

-o-

Really, it was a good day.

It was kind of a remarkable thing, having a good day. Mitch hadn’t realized just how long it’d been since the days had been good -- like, really good.

The next few days following that were better, too. Brody seemed rejuvenated, and it showed in his performance during training and practice. Lawson still worked him hard, but he had a lot fewer complaints.

It was how it had used to be, how Mitch had wanted it to be. Sometimes, it was like they were still back at Baywatch, the two of them, working together, living together, doing life together.

For the first time since landing in Germany, Mitch had hope that this might work out okay after all.

-o-

Hope was a precarious thing, however.

Almost as precarious as performance.

Almost as precarious as health.

One degree off in the execution of any of those things.

And the whole thing came crashing down.

-o-

It was Lawson who broke it, though Mitch had seen signs of the problem coming. Brody’s times had been slower; his appetite had been decreased. He’d started going to bed earlier and earlier each night. Then, two days before the competition was slated to begin, Brody’s headache couldn’t be ignored any longer.

Mitch tried, of course.

Brody tried, harder and more gallantly than ever.

Lawson, however, was having nothing to do with it.

After a particularly dismal turn in the pool, Lawson demanded that Brody come out and, despite other racers nearby, he proceeded to ask Brody, “What the hell is this?”

Brody’s look of apology had been perfect quite some time ago, but it had never been particularly effective on an asshole like Lawson. “Just the headache--”

Lawson threw his arms up in utter and uncontrollable exasperation. “The headache! Again?” he asked, beseeching Mitch in his desperation now. “Are we really back to headaches?”

Mitch had the sense not to say that they had never really left, but Lawson’s question was more rhetorical than anything.

“It’ll be gone tomorrow,” Brody said, making a promise that Mitch knew he couldn’t keep. “By the race for sure.”

“No,” Lawson said, shaking his head. Other racers were watching now, some trying to be discreet. Most of the coaches, however, were gawking openly. “You keep telling me that stuff, and then we keep coming back here. Again and again.”

“Maybe we should take that next day off--” Mitch started to suggest.

But Lawson shook his head, utterly furious now. “No, no way,” he said. “This is already a lost day. We can’t afford another.”

“The time off is good for him,” Mitch said, keeping his voice low. He didn’t want to attract more attention. Plus, he knew if Brody was admitting to a headache, then it had to be a bad one. The last thing he needed was a ruckus to make it worse.

Lawson’s eyes were nearly wild with rage now. It was pretty clear Lawson had every intention of making it worse in some backward attempt to snap him out of it. Logically, making it worse would never make it better, but Lawson was past logic at this point. “Are you a coach?” Lawson seethed, turning on Mitch. “Have you ever taken a swimmer to the Olympics?”

Mitch felt his skin prickle, but Lawson had his attention on Mitch. This meant that it wasn’t on Brody. For that fact, Mitch could endure more.

“No, you’re not,” Lawson hissed. “You’re a lifeguard so I don’t care what the hell you think.”

If Lawson really thought that calling mitch a lifeguard was an effective insult, then he was a bigger idiot than Mitch thought.

Then, to Mitch’s chagrin, Lawson turned back to Brody. “Get back in the pool.”

Brody, shaky as he was, looked ready to comply.

Mitch stepped closer. “Let’s take a break--”

But Lawson was too angry now. He stepped closer to Brody, fuming. “Get in the pool!”

People were more than staring no, and no one was being discreet about it. Everyone was outright gawking at this point, and there was no way to contain the situation now.

Brody’s shoulders slumped. “Maybe a little break--” he suggested, almost begged. He had noticed the attention by now, and he was too well aware of the fact that if he got in the pool, he’d never live up to Lawson’s standards.

“Your only value comes from being in that damn pool!” Lawson yelled. “So get in!”

Brody was practically cowering. Physically, he was too weak to defend himself. Emotionally, Mitch could tell he didn’t have a shot there either.

The notion that Mitch would retain a respectful distance, therefore, was gone. “I said, let’s take a break,” he repeated, more forcefully as he drew himself to full height, squaring his shoulders at Lawson.

This was usually enough to intimidate Lawson. But, angry as he was, Lawson didn’t even flinch. Instead, he turned toward Mitch, lip curled and nose wrinkle. “You don’t even belong here, lifeguard,” Lawson said, sneering the words with a deep venom. “So I think you should get the hell out!”

“I belong with him,” Mitch said, his own ire starting to raise. He could take insults better than most people, but he could not abide threats to his friends. Threats to his family. And no one -- especially not asshole swim coaches -- was going to question his place at Brody’s side. “So I’d like to see you try to stop me.”

Mitch was a big guy; normally that kind of insinuation had its desired effect.

Lawson, however, curled his fingers into fists. Mitch was more amused than scared when he realized that Lawson intended to take a swing at him.

Ready as he was to take the punch, Brody was not.

“Whoa, guys, come on--” Brody started to say, moving to step between them. It wasn’t a fast movement, it wasn’t a hard movement, but Brody’s condition was fragile.

More fragile than Mitch had fully appreciated until just that moment.

Because with the rush of adrenaline, Brody swayed, his knees starting to crumple. Mitch looked from Lawson’s irate face in time to see Brody’s eyes go strangely vacant before they rolled up into his head.

He was passing out, Mitch realized a beat later.

His next realization was that it was a long way down to the pool deck.

The next thought was more pressing, more terrifying.

Because Brody wasn’t going to hit the deck.

No, Brody was falling backward, his balance skewed, his center of gravity pulled back.

He was headed right for the water.

Stunned and transfixed, Mitch could only watch him fall, realizing another second too late that being the best damn swimmer in the world didn’t mean shit when you were unconscious.

-o-

Falling into water while semiconscious was bad.

The good news was that Mitch was a lifeguard.

Not just any lifeguard.

A Baywatch lifeguard.

The best Baywatch lifeguard.

And if Mitch could fish total strangers out of the swirling riptides with poor visibility, then he sure as hell could pull Brody out of a crystal clear pool with artificial lighting overhead.

Without hesitation, Mitch jumped in, quickly scooping Brody close to him and propping him up against his chest above the water. Brody spluttered, head rolling limply back and forth as he struggled to get his bearings. As Mitch worked them back to the edge of the pool, Brody coughed.

By now, the gawking crowd had descended, and ready hands reached down to pull Brody out of the water. As Mitch helped guide Brody up, he noted bitterly but without much surprise that Lawson was not one of them.

When Brody was safely on the pool deck, Mitch quickly climbed out after him, nudging the rest out of the way as he got down on his knees next to his best friend.

Brody was sitting upright, still coughing intermittently. The good news was that he’d been underwater only momentarily. He had to have swallowed only a single mouthful of water, which meant he was going to be fine. Mitch knew that as a lifeguard.

As a friend, his concerns were not so easily allayed. He leaned down, lifting Brody’s head up to look him in the eyes.

Brody allowed this, and his weary eyes were open and actually much clearer than they had been just a few moments ago. Brody knew what had happened. He was less thrilled about it than Mitch was.

Around them, the crowd was murmuring. Someone talked about calling for an ambulance. Brody shook his head, eyes locked on Mitch. “I’m okay,” he said, almost whispering it like a promise. “I’m really okay.”

This was try on one level. Brody hadn’t drowned, and he was at no risk for any water related complication.

That said, he had passed out from a headache, which was a new one. Brody’s headaches had long since minimized his ability to function, but this was the first one that had knocked him out. If Mitch hadn’t been there, this could have been much worse.

But Brody’s gaze was earnest. He didn’t need an ambulance, and he certainly didn’t need this spectacle.

Mitch cleared his throat, glancing throughout the crowd. “He’s okay,” Mitch told them. “We’ve got this.”

To prove the point, Mitch started to get to his feet. Brody didn’t need any prompting to follow Mitch’s lead. When his legs trembled, Mitch reached out to steady him, and he faced the crowd with a smile. “I guess there is such a thing as too much training,” he joked.

The crowd tittered. On the far end, Lawson stood. He was fuming.

Mitch’s resolved hardened. “We’ve got it from here,” Mitch said in that voice of his. The lifeguarding voice, the one that made people listen. The one that made them believe.

Brody waved politely and with a due air of self deprecation. He pulled away from Mitch’s touch, however, and when they started back toward the locker rooms, he was walking on his own.

It made Mitch’s heart swell with pride even as he thought it might burst with pain. All the shit brody had been through, and he was still on his own two feet. Mitch wanted nothing more than to carry him, however. Brody had surely earned a reprieve.

Still, it was Brody’s choice, and Mitch respected it. He would let Brody walk. Even if that meant he was walking right beside him every step. As they left the deck, Lawson fell into place on Brody’s other side, but his face wasn't taut with concern. No, he just looked furious.

At the entrance to the locker room, Lawson made to open the door. Mitch stopped him. “I’ve got it.”

Lawson gave him a withering look. “We have to talk about this.”

Mitch shook his head, mindful of the fact that they were still being watched. “I’ve got this,” he repeated, almost growling the words as he curled closer toward Brody and reached his own hand to the door, dangerously close to Lawson’s own.

Lawson glanced at the hand, then looked at Brody still standing between them. Finally, his eyes settled on Mitch. “He’s my swimmer.”

He said it like he meant it. He said it like he mattered.

A day ago, Mitch might have given him the chance.

But Mitch had fished Brody out of the water while Lawson did nothing but seethe. Sometimes, the chances were spent. After all, family came first, and Lawson had made his choice in that regard.

“Yeah,” Mitch said, nodding his head. “And your responsibility ends with the water, right?”

Hearing his own words thrown back at him made Lawson gape. “That’s not what I meant.”

“Yeah, it is,” Mitch said, and this time he pushed the door open, moving Brody past Lawson. “So this is my territory. Is that understood?”

The shock on Lawson’s face hardened. Bitterly, he threw up his hands. “Whatever,” he muttered. “I should have known this was a lost cause back in California.”

As he stalked off, Mitch escorted Brody through the door. Lawson probably looked back. Mitch wouldn’t know, however. He was too concerned about moving Brody forward.

-o-

Without much conversation, Brody showered and dressed. Mitch lingered, close enough to lend his support without forcing it. Brody allowed this, and he didn’t seem surprised when Mitch sat him down to give him a once over.

When he was confident that Brody was out of immediate danger, he sighed.

Brody offered up a wan smile. “Time to call the doctor, huh?”

Mitch smiled back. It was a little bit of a relief that he didn’t have to fight Brody on this point. But it was also a little terrifying to know that Brody had no fight left.

“Yeah, buddy,” Mitch agreed. “Time to call the doctor.”

-o-

The doctor was true to her word. Better, in fact. She offered them an immediate appointment, and they didn’t have to wait before Brody was whisked off for tests. Mitch filled out paperwork, explaining the full history of Brody’s condition to a nurse. After blood work and X-rays, Brody was given a MRI and a cat scan before they were told to please wait, the doctor would be with them soon.

After long hours training, the accumulated effect of headaches and tests were too much for Brody. He fell asleep in one of the office chairs, and Mitch had no will to wake him. When there was finally a knock on the door, Mitch scrambled to his feet to open it, intercepting the doctor before she came inside.

As no-nonsense as this doctor was, she looked ready to stop him, and Mitch’s most endearing smile had no apparent effect. “I have come to discuss the test results with Mr. Brody,” she said in her heavy accent. “I do not have interest in small talk.”

Mitch nodded along, fully apologetic. “I know, I know,” he said, closing the door behind him and ushering the doctor a few paces down the hall. “It’s just Brody fell asleep. It’s been a long day for him.”

Dr. Stangl actually listened to this. “ Oh,” she said, her concerns allayed. “His blood work points to exhaustion as a contributing factor to his near-syncope this morning. Rest is among my most important recommendations. I can come back later--”

This time, Mitch shook his head. He knew that doctors were busy; asking her to come back later meant that they might wait hours, even until tomorrow to find out answers. Besides the fact that Brody was supposed to race in several days, Mitch didn’t want to stew over what-if that long for his own sanity. “You can talk about it with me,” he suggested.

Dr. Stangl looked immediately suspicious.

“No, I mean, I’m his next of kin, his emergency contact,” Mitch said. “You can check his paperwork.”

“I prefer talking to patients in person,” she said.

“I completely understand,” Mitch said. “But he’s, uh, a bit emotionally raw right now. It might be best if we talk about it first so we can figure out how to approach him. If you throw medical terms at him straight up, he’s likely to ignore everything else you say.”

Dr. Stangl considered this for a moment. “You have a unique relationship with Mr. Brody.”

“He’s family, in all the ways that count,” he said. “I’d do anything for him.”

As unsentimental as the doctor was, she seemed to grasp this on a pragmatic level. “Normally, I would not agree,” she said. “But given the news I have to discuss, your point may be valid.”

Mitch was relieved that she agreed.

But his stomach twisted anyway.

Given the news?

He’d come for a diagnosis, and now that it was being offered, Mitch was faced with the reality that he may not like it. In fact, he may not want it at all.

“Come,” Dr. Stangl said. “We will go to my office.”

Mitch, a natural born leader, had no choice but to follow.