Baywatch/Animal Kingdom: Extenuating Circumstances (5/6)

[faye_dartmouth]

PART ONE
PART TWO
PART THREE
PART FOUR
PART FIVE
PART SIX



-o-

He stays close to Brody as he gets to his feet. He wants to come to his full height, but he leaves his hands open and unimposing. This is the best way to let people know he’s not a threat, but he could be if he wants to. It’s not exactly an unusual approach for him, but he has to admit, usually the stakes aren’t quite this high.

Because there are a lot of people with guns on this boat.

“Thank you,” he says, because someone on this boat did technically save Brody’s life. He decides that now is not the time to dwell on the fact that he never would have been in danger if not for any of these someones in the first place. “For coming back.”

Mitch is polite by nature. He’ll call people on their shit, sure, but he believes in treating people with respect and kindness. Also, he tells the truth. No matter what string of events put Brody in the water, he has to be grateful that he got the chance to bring him back.

Besides, kindness is a good place to start. It’s possible -- however unlikely -- that his gratitude will be enough to make this end well.

The mother purses her lips and gives a small, disparaging shake of her head. Her eyes pass over Mitch, barely skim over Brody, and she looks to Deran. “This is what you put it on the line for? Really?”

Deran gets to his feet. He also pulls himself to full height, and he’s not as impressively built as Mitch but his disposition is more imposing at the moment. “They helped me,” he says. “It was the right thing to do.”

The mother laughs, as if this is the funniest joke she’s ever heard. “We don’t owe favors to the help,” she says. “And we’re supposed to tie off our loose ends. I thought you had grasped your priorities.”

Deran puffs his chest out, ready to advance. Mitch isn’t sure if a mother-son throwdown is going to be in his best interest or not. Possibly they’ll vie for power and Deran will come out on top. Maybe he doesn’t and then Mitch and Brody are dead in the water again. At any rate, Mitch is good at making nice.

And it’s about the only leverage he has right now.

Stepping between them, he’s still got his hands up. “We don’t want any trouble,” he says. He looks to Deran’s mother with an air of deference. “If you’re worried about us turning you in, I couldn’t even if we wanted to. I don’t know who you are and I don’t want to know. Deran came to us because he was in trouble. We’re lifeguards. We save lives. We haven’t got jurisdiction; we don’t make arrests.”

She looks at him with a smirk. “Then what good are you?”

It’s probably positive that she hasn’t given the order to kill him right off the bat. It looks like she’s got the balls to do it, and the men with guns look more than ready to pull their triggers. Mitch needs to keep working his position. Peacemaker is good. Ignorant outsider has its perks. But he needs something to make him valuable. Neutrality won’t impress her.

But if he has something to offer…

Mitch steps back, nodding to Adrian. “He doesn’t look so good.”

“He’s part of the problem,” the mother says. “Honestly, the things my son has done since getting involved with that surfer--”

“I love him,” Deran interjects gruffly, his cheeks burning red.

“And it’s made you a vulnerability,” she says.

“And if he dies, I do more than walk,” Deran shoots back. “You don’t want me as an enemy.”

It’s a bold threat.

It’s one that his mother doesn’t cow to at all.

She’s not particularly maternal, that much is clear. Those instincts have been replaced with more homicidal ones. “I wouldn’t be a passive one, I can assure you.”

Mitch holds up his hands again. “And it doesn’t have to come to that,” he says. “We can all walk away from this as friends.”

It’s an offer that he probably has no grounds to make, but it is an offer that they both seem interested in hearing. There is animosity between them -- and probably a lot of unresolved issues Mitch doesn’t want to know about -- and he can’t say that he thinks Deran should stay and play the good son.

But he sees Deran’s earlier point. Walking away from a woman like this? Isn’t exactly easy. Mitch is all about making the right choice even when it’s hard, but if homicide is on the table, then Mitch can’t say that Deran and Adrian have their priorities entirely wrong.

“Let me help,” Mitch says, careful not to sound like he was pleading. It’s a fine line to be an asset without being complicit, to be valuable but not too important.

Her look at him in return is cold. “For what?”

“Ideally, just getting off his boat alive,” Mitch confesses. “But helping people, it’s wh at we do. Even when it’s not in our best interest.”

Her lips curl up in a smirk. “Sounds like a questionable way to conduct business.”

“Not everything is business,” Deran hisses. He nudges Mitch. “Come on.”

Mitch glances at the mother again, and her lack of action is the only sign of acceptance Mitch knows he’s getting. It’s not much, but he’s aiming low now. Anything that involves Brody not dying sounds pretty good to him.

As he follows Deran to the deck chair where Adrian is sitting, Mitch reminds himself that Brody’s life isn’t the only one in danger right now. In fact, Adrian looks like he’s gotten worse since their so-called rescue.

A lot worse.

“He’s struggling to breathe,” Deran tells him, sitting down on Adrian’s far side on another deck chair. “I don’t know why.”

Mitch is on his knees, looking up into Adrian’s face, which is obscured by the fringe of his bangs. “Adrian? Can you hear me?”

Adrian’s eyes are hollow when he looks at Mitch. He’s rasping so bad that he can hardly speak. “Hurts,” he says, the words hardly audible over the grating in his lungs.

Given the extent of his injuries, that could refer to anything. His nose has bled again -- probably from the jostling in the crossfire -- and the darkening bruises are making for a spectacular display across his tanned features. The freckles, which had once been so prominent, are hard to see with all the discoloration.

Mitch frowns, taking Adrian by the shoulders and gently guiding him back into a reclined position. “Let’s just give you a look,” he says, keeping his voice gentle. This is as much for Adrian’s sake as it is Deran’s.

Quickly, Mitch runs through the extent of his first aid knowledge. Head injuries are things he knows to watch for on the beach, and while it’s likely that Adrian has a concussion, it doesn’t seem likely that his breathing would be directly compromised by that. Despite the overt bruising on his face, there are no obvious indications of blood loss, which means Mitch hasn’t got a lot to work with based on that information.

Chewing his lip, he starts a fresh assessment. He looks beyond the bruising and notes that his lips are going dusky -- another sign of poor oxygenation.

But why?

“He was talking when we first got him off,” Deran continues to explain, and it’s obvious how much his helplessness bothers him. “But things are just getting worse and worse.”

“I’m not a doctor, you know that,” Mitch says. “But they make us do a lot of first aid training.”

“Anything,” Deran says, and he’s not trying to hide the pleading in his own voice anymore. “I just need you to help him.”

Mitch offers him a wry smile. “Is that why you came back for us?”

Deran draws in a breath, but can’t quite keep himself stoic. “I knew Adrian needed help,” he says, and he sits back, just slightly defensive. “And we’re still miles out.”

Mitch nods in response, and doesn’t tell Deran how much his look betrays him. It’s obvious by now that Deran could never live with Adrian’s death. However, the idea of letting two lifeguards die for his mistakes is more than just unfortunate to him. Deran made a choice to come back, a choice that had minimal personal gain to him.

A choice that suggests that Deran understands his priorities.

And wants a second chance to embrace them.

It would be too generous to say that made everything worthwhile -- he needs to make sure they survive this first -- but Mitch can’t deny that it makes him feel a little better.

What doesn’t make him feel better is that Adrian’s breathing is starting to take on a desperate tone. He’s deteriorating more with every passing second and Mitch still doesn’t know why.

Carefully, Mitch moves Adrian’s arms, placing them at his side while he continues to wheeze. He’s wearing a blood-tinged t-shirt, and Mitch lifts it gently, examining the stomach. There’s a few marks there, but nothing that suggest internal bleeding. Upon palpation, he skin is still soft to the touch.

He frowns, lifting the shift a little higher.

And that’s when he sees it.

The colorful bruising is dramatic here -- and concentrated heavily on one side of his chest. When Mitch runs his hands along Adrian’s ribs, he can feel movement -- the kind of movement he feels during a vigorous round of CPR when someone’s ribs snap. That’s not ideal, of course. Broken ribs can cause lots of problems, namely punctured lungs.

Mitch stops short and swallows hard.

A punctured lung.

Has a classical presentation of breathing trouble.

Leaning down, he presses his ear to the left side of the chest. Even with his untrained ear, he can hear the lung as it struggles to inflate.

He sits back, giving himself a moment to collect his thoughts. All he gets is a moment, because Deran is all over him. “So? Can you help him? What’s wrong?”

Mitch smiles faintly at Adrian before turning a grim gaze back at Adrian. “This isn’t something that first aid can fix,” he says.

“What, then?” Deran demands. “What?”

“I think his lung has been punctured,” Mitch explains, because he’s got no need to sugarcoat it. Lying is never his policy, and when those lies might get you killed, he has less reason. “You can see the bruising, and if you feel, you can feel the ribs shifting,” he says.

Deran follows Mitch’s gesturing hand, but he shakes his head. “But he was fine earlier.”

Fine is a relative distinction, but that’s a nuance not worth debating. “The ribs were probably broken during his initial beating,” Mitch theorizes. “As long as he was still, things were probably fine. But when all that gunfire started…”

He trails off, and lets the implication stand.

Deran visibly forces himself to breathe, and he looks at Adrian again. His face twists with an emotion he can’t quite keep back, and he looks at Mitch. “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying you need to get him to a hospital,” he says. “Now.”

Deran’s face hardened, and he looked over to where his mother was still standing. He looks back to Mitch. “Listen to me carefully,” he says. “If you want to get out of this alive with your buddy, then you need to follow my lead. Got it?”

Mitch holds up his hands. “I followed your lead into this,” he says. “No place else for me to go now.”

Deran gives him a curt nod. He bends down, giving Adrian’s shoulder a small squeeze. “Just hold on,” he murmurs before getting to his feet. He nods to Mitch. “Follow me.”

Mitch complies. While he still has options available to him, he knows that Adrian doesn’t. He spares a glance at Brody, who still looks dazed, confused and compromised nearby on the deck. Brody doesn’t have a lot of options either. Deran needs to close this thing out the right way, and Mitch will do whatever it takes to help him with that.

He just has to hope that there is no gunfire involved this time around.

The heartless look on the mother’s face as they approach hardly fills Mitch with much confidence.

What the hell, he tells himself. It’s far too late to turn back now.

-o-

Deran stalks up to his mother with his head held high. He looks her in the eye and he doesn’t flinch when she stares him down right back. “We need to get Adrian to the hospital,” he says. Keeping his voice even, he adds with some emphasis, “Now.”

The boat has already started moving; it’s been moving since Mitch got Brody breathing again. Mitch can’t be sure of their final destination, but his sense of direction is good enough to know they are heading back to shore.

Still, the look on the mother’s face suggests that a hospital is the last thing on her mind.

“That’s quite impossible,” she says, all business now, like her son is asking for a front on his weekly allowance and not access to life saving medical care for his boyfriend.

Deran does not back down. “He could die without a hospital.”

“Oh, you’re being dramatic,” she says with a dismissive wave of her hand. “You know we have alternative resources if things get dire--”

Deran shakes his head, even more determined than before. “I’m not taking chances with this,” he says. “We’re not hiring some quack with a suspended medical license. We’re not waiting for a doctor you can bribe to come down from private practice. We’re going to get Adrian the help he needs now.”

There is no uncertainty in Deran’s voice. He’s not negotiating. He’s laying down his terms.

Any normal person would have caved. If not for sympathy, then for fear of what Deran would do if he didn’t get what he wanted.

Deran’s mother is not a normal person. “I can’t imagine,” she says with a wispy shrug. “Tell me why we should break protocol for someone who’s not even part of the family?”

Deran is starting to fume, and Mitch takes this as his cue. If he has to mediate between homicidal family members, then so be it. “Adrian’s lung is punctured,” he explains. “If he doesn’t get immediate help, then he’ll suffocate. I mean, I’m not a doctor, but these aren’t injuries that can wait.”

Mitch is a persuasive guy. People tend to respond to him.

The mother simply looks bored. “This whole fiasco has left us overextended as it is,” she says. “So I’m afraid the visibility of a hospital stay is simply too visible. Out of the question, considering all the other resources we’ve put in play to resolve this...situation.”

She inclines her head toward Deran.

This time he does flinch as his emotions start to get the better of him. “We’re doing this,” he says, voice almost a growl now.

She’s not a woman who responds well to threats. Or, clearly, anything. “Need I remind you that I am your mother.”

It would almost be comical, watching a woman like that reprimand her son. Except Mitch suspected that her punishments involved more than grounding.

Deran’s face twisted with a smile. “No. I only wish I could forget.”

The looks the mother gives is one Mitch has seen before from countless mothers up and down his beach. Usually, they’re reprimanding their children for talking back or getting too close to the water. The fact that this mother is upset because her son wants to be a decent human being -- well, that’s a new one for Mitch.

“I ought to wash your mouth out with soap,” she snaps. She shakes her head in disapproval.

There’s likely a time when this would have bothered Deran. Mitch can see that she’s misjudged him in this. Deran’s found his breaking point. He’s found his line in the sand. If the old lady doesn’t keep up, she’s going to find now way to come back from this. “Whatever you want,” Deran says. “After you save Adrian.”

She seems to consider this. She’s a piece of work this lady, but she’s not stupid. She’s misjudged her son once, but she doesn’t seem keen to do it again. It’s not clear to Mitch what she thought would happen when she came into a hostage situation with guns blazing, but he gets the sense that she’s making up the rest of this plan on the go. In some ways, she probably thinks like Mitch, taking stock of all the factors and not being afraid to forget a nontraditional path. There’s a certain arrogance to it. The difference comes back to picking the right priorities.

Do you pick family or business?

Profit or people?

Surprisingly, this time, she comes to the same conclusion Mitch does.

Face set, she narrows her eyes at Deran. “And the lifeguards?” she asks, letting the question serve as the concession she does not care to vocalize.

Despite himself, Mitch feels himself tense. She’ll concede Adrian for Deran’s sake. But that’s a tenuous agreement, and Mitch is again reminded of the many men with guns nearby and how Brody still looks barely half conscious across the deck.

“They don’t know anything,” Deran says, and Mitch can’t decide if it’s good or bad that he’s gone back to logic instead of emotion. “They’ve got nothing to do with this.”

As far as logic goes, the mother is unimpressed. “More reason for their deaths to be insignificant,” she says. “They’re liabilities now.”

Deran shakes his head. “They walk.”

There’s no threat made, not explicitly. But the implicit balance of power of shifting, for better or worse. Mitch can hope it’s for the better.

“I have to say again just how disappointed I am,” she says. “I come all the way out here on your behalf, and I get nothing but insolence. And sentiment. I had such high hopes for you.”

Deran’s snort is one of dry bemusement. “Funny. Because all my hopes dried up the more I was in this family. I didn’t have any left at all, not until Adrian.”

Exhaling heavily, she straightened her shoulders and adjusted her hair. “We’ll have to have a talk,” she says, pausing to glance over Mitch, Brody, Adrian and the gunmen. “In private. About your poor attitude and even worse performance of late.”

“Fine,” Deran says, shrugging. “After the hospital.”

Again, she makes no verbal concession. In fact, she acknowledges nothing. But with a sweeping motion, she directs most of the gunmen to follow her back inside the cabin. A few remain on deck, clearly at designated posts. It’s not much of a promise, but since it’s not a threat, Mitch knows that’s probably good enough for now.

“So?” Mitch finally prompts with a look to Adrian. “What do we do now?”

“We sit with the others, monitor their conditions,” Deran says.

“You believe your mom?” Mitch asks, trying not to sound hesitant.

“Hell, no,” Deran says. “So you watch your friend’s back, okay? Because I’m going to do whatever it takes to get Adrian out of here.”

Whatever it takes.

Even if it means leaving Mitch behind.

It’s a cold distinction, but Mitch looks at Brody and he understands.

For some people, there are no lines he wouldn’t cross.

-o-

Most of the time, Mitch dislikes being idle, but staying close to Brody honestly doesn’t seem so bad. In fact, to be perfectly honest, it feels a little like a relief. Knowing that this isn’t over yet, Mitch is inclined to take the respite for what it is.

He’s glad that Brody seems to be remaining awake and alert. His breathing is still a little wet, but it’s nothing Mitch wouldn’t expect from someone who had aspirated water. He’s still showing signs of a concussion, however.

That is the only reason why Mitch keeps prodding him awake.

It’s not because he takes comfort being close to the other man.

That’s absolutely not it.

“Just a little longer,” Mitch cajoles when Brody starts to drift off again. This isn’t a long journey, but Brody seems to think it is. “We’ll be there soon.”

Brody makes a face with a low, moaning groan. “You’re full of shit, Mitch,” he rasps. He closes his eyes for a moment, steadying himself as the boat rocks, before opening them again. “More than usual.”

“What have I told you about seeing the job through?” Mitch chides, trying not to look at the still-weeping head wound. He does this part better. The tough love, the strong leadership, the constructive criticism. It’s a part of their dynamic that they’ve both grown comfortable with -- even when it isn’t still needed. “You can’t be a part of this team if you’re a quitter.”

Brody chuffs slightly, cutting off with a wince. “I know we established that this is was part of the job, kidnapping aside,” he says. “But I think you could cut me just a little slack. It’s been kind of a long day.”

Mitch’s impulse is to maintain the dialogue, keep up with the banter. But he feels himself falter. He swallows hard, keeping his emotions in check. He knows the shore is approaching; he just doesn’t know what that means. He’s not sure he wants to know what that means. “I know, buddy,” he says, and he puts his hand on Brody’s shoulder. “But I told you. It’s almost done.”

Brody is not one to believe platitudes blindly -- if at all. He’s not exactly cynical about life, but he’s always had the disposition of someone who is waiting for the other shoe to fall. “You say that like it’s a good thing.”

Mitch shrugs. “Would you rather stay here on this boat? Deran’s family does seem lovely.”

Brody snorts lightly. “Shit,” he murmurs lightly. “You do know that they’re probably going to kill us, right?”

Mitch shakes his head, adamant despite the fact that he’s been convinced of the same thing. “They’re not going to kill us.”

“Uh, yes,” Brody says, more coherent than he has been since Mitch rescued him. “I’m pretty sure that’s what people like this do to people like us.”

“That’s not going to happen,” Mitch says flatly.

Brody deflates tiredly, the signs of strain settling in again. They can both see Adrian and Deran, huddled close not far away. “All the things you’re good at, Mitch, you’re not a very good liar.”

Mitch has no defense to that. He’s a man who prefers the truth, and Brody knows him too well not to see through even his best intentioned falsehoods.

And still, Mitch shakes his head. Lies are one thing. But this is more than an issue of fact. This is an issue of belief.

It’s got to be how he gets them out of it. “It’s not a lie, though,” he reasons. “It’s just a choice to believe that we can work together to overcome the situation. It’s a choice to believe in a better outcome.”

“That’s what you said this morning, when we started this,” Brody points out.

Mitch’s gut twists. It’s not an accusation, but it feels like conviction all the same. “I’m not saying it’s a perfect policy,” he admits. “But if that’s what gets us into shit, then that’ll be what gets us out. I don’t know, maybe if I went back, if I did it again, I’d do it differently.”

This time, Brody’s scoff is pronounced. “No, you wouldn’t.”

“If I had known I’d have to save your ass so many times today, I might have,” Mitch counters.

Brody shakes his head slightly, mindful of his injury. “No, you wouldn’t.”

Mitch lets out a breath, feeling his ire start to rise. “I know my priorities, Brody. The job doesn’t always come first. Not even for me.”

It’s a telling admission, one that is more vulnerable than someone might assume.

Brody sees it.

He also sees through it.

Swallowing, his eyes are clear when he speaks. His voice, though weak, is steady. “Well, if you hadn’t, we’d still be here,” he says. “Because if you hadn’t gone, I would have, and we both know you would have followed me just as much as I followed you. We’d still be here, no matter which way it went.”

There’s been a lot of shit today. A lot of shit.

But that much, right there, is the one true thing that matters.

It’s his responsibility.

It’s his absolution.

It’s just who they are, Mitch and Brody. No matter who starts what, they’ll end up together.

“That’s probably true,” Mitch says.

Brody huffs, closing his eyes. “It’s totally true.”

Mitch rolls his eyes, but Brody doesn’t see him. Another moment passes and Mitch worries that Brody has drifted off again. He reaches out, nudging him. “Dude, seriously,” he cajoles. “Just a little bit longer.”

Brody groans, more pronounced than before. “Why do I feel like we’ve had this conversation?”

“And we’ll keep having it,” Mitch tells him, nuding him again until Brody’s eyes are looking at him. “Until we’re off this boat, back on the beach, where we belong.”

That’s a threat, in some ways.

Mostly, though, it’s a promise.

-o-

When Mitch makes a promise, you can count on him keeping it.

As the boat slows a few miles short of shore, however, Mitch has a pang of worry that this time will make a liar out of him in the worst possible way. By the time they come to a stop, Mitch is on full alert. He’s drawn close to Brody, who is dazed but just coherent enough to notice that things are about to go down.

Neither of them know what that means. Mitch looks to Deran, who has taken a similarly protective stance around Adrian. He exchanges a guarded look with Mitch. Even Deran isn’t quite sure how this will end.

When Mitch turns his head, he sees the other boat approaching from the far side. It’s smaller, faster and unmarked. Out of the cabin, the armed entourage has reappeared with Deran’s mother not far behind.

She does not look pleased.

Mitch is half curled protectively around Brody, but the mother doesn’t even spare them a look. Instead, she makes her way to Deran and sighs. “If you want to take him with you, please, understand, he’s entirely your responsibility,” she says.

Deran flinches, as he clearly tries to process what she’s said.

The slowness only seems to aggravate her more. “If you don’t want the boat, then I can send it away,” she says.

Deran gets to his feet, still hovering in front of Adrian, who now appears unconscious. “What’s the boat for?”

She lets out a long, heavy breath. “It’s private medical transportation,” she says. “Adrian’s selected paperwork is included, and the best private hospital in the area has been alerted to expect you within the hour.”

Deran looks at her. He looks off to the boat. Now that everyone has come to a stop, the story appears legitimate. There are two people on the boat, and one of them is dressed as a medic. If it’s a lie, it’s a well organized one, and for all that this woman seems untrustworthy, Mitch can’t fathom a reason for this kind of deception right now. If she doesn’t intend to actually help Adrian for Deran’s benefit, then there would be infinitely less complicated ways to resolve the situation, mostly involve bullets straight into brains.

Because yeah, Mitch has no doubts that she’s capable of that.

In fact, he suspects she’s done it before.

Deran seems reluctant to accept the gesture at face value, however. “I go with him,” he says, unwavering.

“Yes, yes, of course,” she says, although she sounds truly exasperated by the notion. “And just because I’ve conceded to let you have this, don’t think that our conversation is over.”

“Just let me save Adrian--”

She waves her hand dismissively. Two of the goods put their guns away, coming over to hoist Adrian up. Deran yelps, intervening to soften the movement. Unconscious as he is, Adrian doesn’t seem to notice, but Deran takes Adrian’s upper body into his own arms with care.

He looks at his mother, eyes sliding past her to Mitch. “And the lifeguards?”

The mother laughs at that. “What about them?”

“They’re coming,” Deran says.

With raised eyebrows, she looks like this idea is the most ludicrous thing she’s ever heard. “Do you know how much money this will cost me for just you and Adrian?” she asks as she shakes her head. “No, this is a two-person ride. If you want to give up your place or Adrian’s, however…”

Deran is shaking his head before she finishes the thought. “I thought we agreed--”

“And I thought you knew what mattered,” she says tersely, but there’s a glint in her eye. She knows she’s won on this point.

Mitch doesn’t smile -- he can’t quite muster that -- but he does nod. A small inclinations of his head, enough to let Deran know he understands. There’s no ill will between them, not about this.

In return, Deran’s last look is one of apology.

But it is a last look.

He drops his head, starting his way to the edge of the boat with Adrian’s head against his chest. It’s slow work as they carefully maneuver Adrian over, and Deran climbs over the side after him without so much as a look back.

That’s how priorities are, after all. You make them, and you defend them. Everything else is negotiable.

Mitch looks at Brody.

That much, he and Deran have in common.

-o-

It takes a matter of moments before Adrian is secured, and the other boat is peeling off within seconds. Those second are fleeting, and when Mitch looks up again, the mother has turned on him. Her eyes are cold, but she doesn’t approach. As her gaze lingers, Mitch scoots closer to Brody. Brody instinctively moves closer to him at the same time, both of the braced, almost in tandem, for whatever’s about to come next.

Mitch knows, just as well as Brody, what kind of crazy shit can go down when you’re a Baywatch lifeguard. They both have to be prepared for anything.

So when she sighs again, more weary than before, Mitch expects the worst. At the flit of her hand, he’s ready to make one, last desperate charge in a hail of gunfire, but he realizes that she’s not calling her men to action.

She’s pointing at the sea.

With another gesture, she rolls her eyes. “Go,” she says impatiently. “Before I change my mind.”

Usually Brody’s the slow one, but this time, they both seem pretty slow on the uptake. Still poised in front of Brody, Mitch cocks his head. “What?”

“Go,” she says again, and she drops her hand with an exasperated shrug.

“I don’t understand,” Mitch says. The water around them is clear; the men are no longer standing at alert.

“I don’t think it’s actually that complicated,” she says. “If you don’t want me to murder you and weight your bodies with cement to drop to the bottom of your beloved ocean, then I suggest you take your little lifeguard friend and jump overboard. I realize it seems far, but you’re lifeguards. If you can’t swim to shore, then you don’t deserve to live anyway.”

It’s not clear to Mitch if she’s making a joke. Or, at the very least, which part is the joke. Brody, at his back, is actually trembling.

“Oh, come on,” she says. “This your chance to escape. You can swim back and tell everyone about your close encounter with criminal masterminds.”

Mitch hesitates, almost despite himself. “You’re letting us go?”

“Apparently, yes,” she says, like that’s just that.

After all they’ve been through, like that’s just that.

Mitch is staring at her. Brody is actually gaping.

This time, she groans. “You’re thinking too hard; I can see you’re straining yourself,” she says. “Come on, now. It’s not a trap. This would be a silly trap. If I wanted to kill you, I wouldn’t trick you into it. You’d have bullets in your head the instant my son and his ridiculous boyfriend disembarked.”

That actually makes sense. There’s no point in having them jump overboard if she wants to leave them for dead. In fact, that’s wholly unnecessary. While he doesn’t put it past her to do some cruel things for sport, this whole situation seems tedious to her. She clearly doesn’t want to drag it out, not even for kicks.

It’s hard to say how any of this could be for kicks.

This train of thought takes him longer than he intends. She sighs with a flourish once more. “You’re making me reconsider,” she says, a bit more pointedly now. “I didn’t come here to kill lifeguards, but I suppose I can make an exception.”

Mitch latches onto that, and he finds his voice again. “Then why did you come here today?”

If anything, she looks pleased to finally have an intelligent response. “I would think that’s obvious.”

“I want to hear it from you,” Mitch says, because he’s decided, with this family, nothing is plainly obvious.

She sobers somewhat. It would be inaccurate to say her pretenses are gone, because she’s not that kind of woman, but there’s something more recognizable in her expression. The fleeting look of something relatable. “To save my son, of course,” she says. “Even if he doesn’t think he needs to be saved.”

For most mothers, that answer would be enough. She isn’t most mothers, though. It’s not enough, not by a long shot. “Are you sure you know what he needs to be saved from?”

It’s perhaps too forward. He can feel Brody flinch again, holding his breath.

The woman looks at him, studying him for a long, hard moment. She seems to appreciate his forwardness. If nothing else, she can relate to his bluntness. It’s possible she likes that about him. Were she not a terrible person, they might have liked each other.

Mitch checks himself. He’s giving a fleeting look way too much credit. She’s a deranged lunatic. There’s nothing likable there.

“Oh, please, spare me,” she says, the fleeting humanity gone once more. The cold mask is solidified. “None of that is a particular concern of yours.”

Mitch nods around him. “I think it kind of might be.”

Now she’s starting to look annoyed again, though she apparently seems to be keeping herself in check. “Look, if you want to debate ethics in parenting, then you can stay here with me until I put a bullet in your friend’s pretty little skull,” she says. She shrugs. “Or you can take him, jump overboard and make your bid for safety. It’s up to you to pick your priorities.”

He looks at Brody. Battered, still wheezing, worse for wear. He’d followed Mitch into this. Now it was time to lead him home. Brody meets his gaze. He’s hurting; he’s scared.

He’s also ready.

Mitch looks back at the woman. “How can I be sure you won’t come after us?”

Her expression turns on condescension. “Because I clearly do not care enough,” she says. “I have far more pressing concerns.”

“And if we go to the cops?” Mitch asks.

This detail seems annoying to her, but ultimately inconsequential. “Well, that’s not my first choice, but it’s probably unavoidable, I know,” she says. “Of course, I would appreciate any vagueness you put into the details, but if you must recount things, please do not downplay how effectively terrifying I actually am. For that matter, tell them you overpowered some moron while I was inside. I would prefer not to let it be known that I willfully allowed the escape of two inconsequential lifeguards. I have a reputation, you know. I’m sure you understand.”

The fact that she’s asking for a favor is a little galling.

The fact that this is the favor she’s asking for is beyond response.

Mitch shakes his head, and focuses himself instead. Mitch knows if she’s letting them go, Mitch can control what happens next for Brody. Brody’s not the only victim in this situation, however. He’s not the one Mitch came all the way out here to save. “You can’t control Deran forever, you know,” he says. “Next time, you could lost him. Next time, I think you will.”

Whatever humor had been in her face before rapidly hardens. With a sharp nod of her head, she is steely determination once again. “And next time you could lose your friend,” she says. With her patience spent, she pulls a gun. The men around her come to alert, but she’s the only one who aims the gun at them. “How do you feel about that?”

Mitch feels like he’s done as much as he can do. It’s a lesson about priorities, after all.

Mitch pulls Brody up, supporting his weight next to him.

Priorities.

After all.

“Come on,” he says to Brody now, guiding him toward the edge of the boat. He helps Brody shift his weight to the ledge. “We’re going to dive in, nice and simple, just the two of us. Just another day in the ocean.”

Brody nods, his breath hot and fast against Mitch’s chest. “Are you sure about this?”

Mitch doesn’t look back at the woman holding the gun or any of her goons. He doesn’t have to look back. That’s the thing about second chances. Some people know how to take them; other people don’t.

Mitch knows what kind of guy Brody is.

Now it’s time for Mitch to follow that example.

“Definitely,” he says, joining Brody on the ledge. “Now, deep breath. One, two, three--”

With that, they leave the ledge, dive clear of the boat and hit the surface of the water.

With that, they’re free.

-o-

For several long moments, Mitch focuses on getting them away. He and Brody are both strong swimmers with plenty of experience in the ocean, so it’s not hard to push away from the boat, gaining as much distance as possible. If it were up to Mitch, in all honesty, he would have probably kept his head down and swam until he hit land, but this isn’t simply up to Mitch.

Next to him, Brody is struggling. After about five minutes of a dead swim, Brody comes up short out of the water. By the time Mitch stops next to him, Brody is half floating on his back, eyes closed and face twisted in pain as he heaves for air.

“What? You okay?” Mitch asks, coming back alongside him and rapidly searching for an injury he missed. “Is something wrong?”

Brody coughs and then groans, squinting up at the sun. “Everything’s wrong,” he says, words a little slurred. “Shit, Mitch. We were kidnapped and blown up and I think I drowned and everything is wrong.”

There’s nothing there that Mitch doesn’t know, so he’s not sure why it comes as such a surprise to hear it all laid out. All the shit Brody calls him on, Mitch has taken for granted how much Brody lets slide by. It shouldn’t take kidnappings and explosions for Mitch to realize that sometimes Mitch gets in a little over his head.

And yet, it works. If he goes under, Brody pulls him up. And if Brody’s about to go under, well, Mitch knows what he has to do.

“But we’re together,” he says, and he nods toward the distant shore. It’s miles out; farther than Mitch knows Brody wants to think about right now. “And we’re going home. What else do we need?”

Brody looks at him, tired and battered and spent. Brody looks at him, and he nods.

Because it’s enough.

Against all logic, somehow, that’s enough.

“I’m not sure if I can make it,” Brody confesses. His breathing is still ragged; the blood is staining the side of his face red.

Mitch nudges him as they tread water side by side. “That’s why I said together, asshole,” he says. “Now let’s go.”

He sets off swimming, strong, steady strokes. Behind him, Brody’s strokes are less steady, but Mitch doesn’t have to look back to know that he’s there.

-o-

It’s possibly the longest swim of Mitch’s life. He’s swam farther, sure. He’s swam in worse conditions, yes. And he’s swam with more dragging him down. But the fact that Brody matches each stroke when Mitch can see the strain -- that’s a different kind of burden. He wonders how different it would have been if they’d never left the beach that morning. He wonders how this might have gone if he’d never insisted on helping a madman with a gun.

What gets him most, however, is the fact that Brody’s not wondering any of those things.

He’s just wondering if he can follow Mitch back home, where they both belong.

Mitch doesn’t second guess. He doesn’t feel guilty. He’s never had to use a second chance before.

But that gives him pause.

He’s not sure what to do with it, really.

He just knows that for Brody’s sake and his own, the shore can’t come soon enough.

-o-

They make, though.

Of course they make it.

Just because Mitch had no doubts they’d get here, doesn’t mean he’s not relieved. It has been a rather long day after all. Mitch is not in his top form and Brody -- well, Brody’s about ready to pass out. It’s not clear if it’s the head wound or the lingering affects of CPR, but Brody’s gotten steadily worse over their swim. There were a few times Mitch thought he was going to have to drag Brody back in.

As it is, Mitch half drags him out of the water. Without the buoyancy, it seems that Mitch is the only thing keeping the younger man going. They don’t make it more than a few steps before it seems like all of Baywatch descended upon them.

This should be an exaggeration. Mitch is not entirely sure it is.

“Mitch! Brody! Where the hell have you been?” Stephanie demands.

“Are you okay?” CJ asks, helping them out of the water.

“They don’t look okay,” Ronnie adds.

Summer comes up along the other side, sidling in to take some of Brody’s weight as he clearly starts to flag. “We were just organizing the Coast Guard now,” she says. She brushes her hand against the blood on Brody’s head. “Are you okay?”

Brody snorts a little, but looks to Mitch.

Mitch presses his lips flat. “We’ve been better, honestly.”

Stephanie is clearing the beach as they make their way up.

“What can we do?” CJ asks.

“Did someone do this to you?” Ronnie asks.

“It’s a long story,” Mitch says, somewhat breathless as Brody stumbles. Summer moves to take more of his weight as they make their way up the sand. He can see the crowds just barely at bay, and he’s sure this is quite a sight. “I’m sure we’ll need Ellerbee to go over it.”

“Ellerbee?” Stephanie says with a frown. “But you hate jurisdiction--”

Mitch gives her a rueful look. “Trust me,” he says. “Ellerbee.”

Brody nods, but he’s coughing too much to add anything much.

“But first,” Mitch says. “Hospital.”

“Are you sure?” CJ asks.

At the same time, Ronnie worries, “Did someone do this to you?”

Brody sinks to his knees, and Mitch goes with him for good measure. He looks at Brody who holds his gaze. “Priorities,” he says, bringing up the barest hint of a reassuring smile. “Hospital.”

-o-

An ambulance seems a bit dramatic, but it’s been that kind of day. The medics let Mitch ride with Brody, who is just coherent enough to be embarrassed by the fuss, and Mitch decides to let things be. It’s not in his nature to let other people make the big choices, but he’s made a lot of big choices today, and some of them didn’t turn out so great. For now, he’s okay with letting someone else take control of that.

As long as he can sit down and watch Brody breathe, Mitch really isn’t going to complain right now.

At the hospital, Mitch allows them to check him out -- just as a general precaution -- and he consents mainly because they allow him to sit in a curtained area on a gurney next to Brody. Brody is not spared the indignity of being laid out and poked and prodded, but when he seems to get too anxious about the proceedings, Mitch speaks a little louder to let the kid know he’s there.

The doctors quickly determine there’s nothing wrong with Mitch, but they don’t like the way Brody’s lungs sound. Mitch assures Brody that chest films are entirely routine after a water drowning, but he still walks as far as the staff will permit before he sees Brody off into radiology.

He’s not alone for long. He’s not sure, in all honesty, how the others find him, but that seems to be part of who he is. People always find him, people in need, people with questions, people who need something.

Also, sometimes, people who care.

Stephanie, CJ, Ronnie and Summer want the story, the whole story, and Mitch doesn’t have any need to deny it to them. It’s just, tired as he is, he only wants to tell it once today, so he waits for Ellerbee to take his statement in the waiting room, the others crowded by as they listen with wide eyes.

It’s a hell of a story, really. About being taken by gunpoint and how one hostage situation turned into two. There’s talk of shoot outs, criminal masterminds and explosions.

“The family, you’re suggesting that it’s a crime family,” Ellerbee says. He’s been writing furiously this whole time, knowing Mitch well enough to know that every word can be counted as truth. “Did you get their name?”

Mitch shakes his head. He’s not sure if he’s thankful that he doesn’t have to lie about this. Taking down the mother -- the family -- has a lot of appeal to him, especially now that they know him -- now that they know Brody. But Deran is a part of that, Adrian along with him. He and Brody sacrificed too much for their second chances; he hates to think of them losing it. “They never said,” he says. “I could provide a physical description. If you have photos, I’d be happy to look through them.”

Ellerbee chews on the inside of his lip, thoughtful. “I still can’t quite understand how they roped you into this,” he says. “Why take a lifeguard?”

“Baywatch has a reputation for being the best,” Stephanie points out.

“And everyone knows we do more than pull people out of the water,” CJ adds.

“Plus, look at Mitch. And Brody for that matter. If I needed help, that’s where I’d go, too,” Ronnie says.

“Just bad luck, I suppose,” Summer says. CJ squeezes her arm, and Summer tries to smile. “It could have been any of us.”

Mitch has to look away at that. Their explanations are sincere; in any other context, they’d be valid, too. Mitch hasn’t told them about the last incident. When Ellerbee had tried to find the victim of the assault a few months ago, he’d pleaded ignorance.

An ignorance that nearly cost him everything.

But the story’s not done yet. There’s no way Mitch can be sure how it ends. Deran and Adrian still have another chance to play out, and it seems premature to write them off. Of course, it could be blind hope that makes Mitch believe that their choices might still somehow make all this worthwhile, but Mitch isn’t sure he’s got much more than that to go on right now.

It’s just enough to quell the guilt that festers in his gut every moment that Brody’s gone.

Sighing, Mitch looks back up, back at Ellerbee, back at his team, back at his friends. He smiles, thin and wan and tired. “They tried to take Brody first, but I wasn’t going to let that happen. If Brody was going anywhere, I was going with him. That’s all.”

Because Mitch can talk in circles about criminal activity, hostage situations, crimes scenes and family dynasties of organized crime. But that’s not what this story is about. That’s not what today has been about. It’s been about following the person that matters most. You follow them as far as they go.

Then you follow them home again.

Ellerbee sighs, closing his notebook. “You know, if anyone else was selling me this story, I’d tell them they were full of it,” he says with a shake of his head. “But you’re so crazy, man. I know it has to be true.”

“When you talk to Brody, he’ll confirm it, trust me,” Mitch says, slumping back in his chair.

“I’ll have to pass this along to major crimes, just so you know,” Ellerbee says. “I’m pretty sure those dudes will want to talk to you.”

“Well, I look forward to it,” Mitch says. “We met some crazy people today.”

Ellerbee gives a small laugh as he gets up. “That’s what I thought when I met you,” he says. “And look how that turned out.”

“It’s been a crazy ride, that’s for sure,” Mitch agrees. Normally, he’d get up, shake Ellerbee’s hand, but he’s too tired for formalities.

“You gave me a second chance, so I had to return the favor sooner or later,” Ellerbee assures him, patting him on the shoulder as he walks out. “I’m glad I did, man. I’m glad I did.”

“Totally worth it, brother,” Mitch says back. “If you need anything, you know where to find me.”

“Unless you go off and get kidnapped again,” Ellerbee quips. “Let me know when Brody’s cleared. And the rest of you, keep an eye on his dumb ass, will you?”

They murmured their agreement as Ellerbee saw himself out. They were quiet for a moment, the hustle and bustle of the hospital around them. It was Mitch who finally drew a breath, looking at them each in turn. “I didn’t mean for anything to turn out this way.”

“Uh, you were kidnapped,” Ronnie says. “Pretty sure you didn’t pick that.”

Mitch didn’t, and yet, in some ways, he had. “Sometimes, the way I lead this team, I make you al think that this shit is normal. Part of the job description.”

Stephanie knits her brow together. “Because it is,” she says. “We do whatever it takes to protect the bay.”

The others nod along, without hesitation. That hardly makes Mitch feel better. “I know that, and I know that you mean that,” he says. “But you all do understand that the Bay isn’t the only priority.”

CJ just looks confused. “The bay isn’t the job,” she says. “The family is the job.”

Mitch sighs, wiping a weary hand over his face. “We all say that, I teach you to say that, but then it ends up like this,” he says with a vague gesture toward the radiology department. “I had to bring Brody back today with CPR. That’s not what I intended for any of you to risk.”

It’s Summer who sits forward, Summer who has more at stake than all the rest, Summer who is more certain than any of them. “And he’d be the first to tell you it’s worth it,” she says. “You gave him the chance he needed. He’ll give you everything back, all of us will.”

That is, of course, the problem.

That is also the solution.

Mitch can’t assuage this guilt, and maybe he shouldn’t. Maybe it’s okay if there’s a give and take. Maybe it’s okay to be wrong sometimes. Maybe it’s okay to follow when you don’t know where to lead. Maybe this is what a second chance looks like, raw and uncertain and broken. It’s the chance to put the pieces back together, and if they don’t fit the way they used to, maybe they’ll fit a way you never thought it would work. A way you never want to change again.

“Thanks,” he says finally, because there’s nothing else to say. “I’m glad you’re here.”

“Of course we’re here,” Summer says.

CJ, Ronnie and Stephanie all pull closer.

It’s Stephanie who smiles. “Where else would we be?”

That’s the question.

Mitch knows their answer isn’t one he necessarily deserves.

It’s also an answer he’ll never take for granted again.

-o-

For all their take of together, they leave Mitch to be alone with Brody once he’s cleared by radiology. His lungs are irritated, but there’s no sign of water retention or fluid collection. The head CT is also clear, and Brody has to watch for signs of complications and rest, which can be done better at home than in a sterile hospital room.

With that declaration, Brody is slated to be released, but the nurses have to get the paperwork in order. It’s a tedious process, and while the others make preparations to get Mitch and Brody out with as little stress as possible, Mitch has time to talk to Brody.

It’s funny. They’ve spent all day together and they’ve exchanged a lot of words, but they haven’t really talked.

Brody, dressed in a borrowed pair of sweats from Ronnie that are a few sizes too big, is sitting on the edge of his exam bed. It’s clear that he wants to lay down and sleep, but he has no intention of doing that here. “When did you say Ellerbee would be by?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Mitch says, a little distracted. It had been Stephanie who had called Ellerbee, and CJ had been the one to explain that they didn’t have to worry about it. “I think he’ll swing by our place later.”

Brody nods like he understands, but his eyes are so distant that Mitch isn’t sure he’s heard anything Mitch said. Brody’s concussion isn’t serious, but the day’s events have clearly taken their toll.

“After you get some sleep,” Mitch clarifies, rather unnecessarily.

Brody makes a small sound of agreement. For a moment, he seems to fall asleep with his eyes open, but he startles himself awake. “I didn’t realize how tired I was.”

“Adrenaline,” Mitch advises him. “It kept you going. I never thought you’d make the swim back.”

Brody shrugs. “Just following you,” he says. “You didn’t stop.”

“I also don’t have a concussion and I didn’t drown today,” Mitch reminds him.

Brody wrinkles his nose as he thinks about that. It seems to be a less than pleasant memory. “It’s weird that the whole being kidnapped at gunpoint wasn’t actually the worst part of my day.”

That’s so not funny that Mitch actually laughs. “It was a shitty day, wasn’t it?”

They can talk about how they have regrets, how they’d do it again, but at least this much is undeniable.

Brody, tired as he is, still musters up a laugh as well. “It was,” he says. “It really was.”

When their laughs die out, a silence lingers. Mitch clears his throat, somewhat uncomfortable.

Brody breaks the silence with a ragged draw of his breath. He’s been cleared, but it still sounds like gravel. “Do you think Adrian’s okay?”

The question isn’t what Mitch is expecting, though he probably should have been. Were their positions reversed, Mitch is sure that is what would be on his mind. Priorities being what they are, Mitch’s attentions have been otherwise preoccupied, but he thinks about it now. “I don’t know,” he says. “He was still breathing when he got off the boat. As long as that was true, Deran was going to do anything to save him. I’d say the odds are in their favor.”

“We could ask around,” Brody suggests. “You probably know the hospitals in the area.”

Mitch shrugs. “Probably,” he says. “But first things first. We have to get you home.”

Brody frowns a little at the suggestion. “We went out there in the first place for Adrian. To save him.”

“And we did what we could,” Mitch says. “But priorities change. Deran made his choice, and I don’t fault him for it. So I’m not going to apologize for making mine.”

Brody thinks about that and its full range of implications. “It’s just,” he starts, and then he stops. He looks at Mitch uncertainly. “I thought we always chose the victim.”

Mitch has come to terms with this enough that he doesn’t flinch. “And you were the victim.”

“It was, like, a workplace injury,” Brody argues. “Adrian’s still the victim, isn’t he?”

“Well, fine,” Mitch says, because there’s no way around this. More than that, he doesn’t want a way around it. He owns it; he claims it. It’s his truth. He shrugs. “Then, I choose you.”

Brody’s expression is quizzical.

Mitch does not yield. “Put it all out there on the table, lay out the priorities,” he says. “And I choose you. Right or wrong, it doesn’t matter.”

Brody sighs a little before breathing in through his nose. He sits for a second before he speaks. “Thank you,” he says finally. “For saving my life.”

Mitch makes a face, taken by surprise. “That’s the job.”

“No,” Brody says, smiling now. “I don’t think it necessarily was.”

Brody’s not just talking about kidnapping and hostage situations. He’s not even just talking about today. He’s talking about months and months of charging headlong into danger with the knowledge that you always had backup on the way.

He’s talking about the second chances, the small graces. He’s talking with the gratitude of a man who knows he’s been saved and who will spend the rest of his life making that debt up. Some people try to pay it back with jet skis, fruit baskets or hugs.

Other people pay it back with a lifetime of dedication.

Mitch has saved a lot of lives in his tenure at Baywatch.

Somehow, Matt Brody is the most thankful of them all.

“No,” Mitch agrees, smiling back. “I guess it probably wasn’t.”