(no subject)
Dear God, just what have I gotten myself into?
Kill me . . . kill me now.
Oh . . . this part is officially dedicated to emrinalexander, for services rendered. ;)
John had always thought that drowning would be a peaceful way to go, but it really wasn’t.
Everything hurt, down to his fingernails. Even his hair.
Opening his eyes took some effort, and he lifted one hand weakly to rub away crusted salt and sand. A girl’s voice gasped, “He’s alive!”
“Of course he’s alive!” snapped an unfamiliar male voice. “This was rescue, not recovery!”
John started to chuckle, but gagged instead. Hard, competent hands moved swiftly and surely over his body, turning him to the side as he puked up what felt like most of the Atlantic Ocean.
“You there,” the voice rapped out. “Instead of posing for a cheesecake calendar, do you think you could, oh, I don’t know, maybe spare your Evian water for *the drowned guy* over here?”
The crowd tittered, and John heard a female voice scoff in outrage, “Oh, I’m surrrrrre!”
“Sure of *what*, exactly, no one knows,” the guy helping John muttered under his breath as he held a bottle to his lips. “Drink. All of it.”
John gulped until the bottle was removed, turned his head and threw up again.
“Good,” said the voice briskly. “Once more.”
John, miserably, did as he was told. Dizzy and disoriented, this time he turned his head in the wrong direction, and yakked all over his rescuer.
He heard the gathered crowd make a collective sound of disgust, and his face burned with embarrassment.
“’S okay,” the guy said softly, dabbing at John’s streaming eyes. When John finally managed to crack one eye open, he watched as broad, capable hands soaked a section of someone’s t-shirt in yet more bottled water, and resumed gently wiping at John’s face.
“S-sorry,” John choked out through teeth that had suddenly begun to chatter uncontrollably.
“You - make yourself useful and hand me that towel,” the guy barked. “This one, that one - emergency here, stop looking around for one that doesn’t belong to you!”
A shadow blocked the heat of the sun, and John shivered some more, even as practiced hands snugged first one, and then another, heavy towel around his shoulders.
“Hey, is he gonna be all right?”
A derisive snort sounded clearly. “Probably, as long as I can keep *you* far, far away from him.”
Fingertips on his face brought John back to awareness. “Hey, come on, stay with me now. You’re going into shock. I need you to focus on me.”
John tried to nod, and struggled to speak. “J-j-ohn,” he managed.
Hands were briskly rubbing a towel over his wet head. “Hm? No, my name’s Rodney. Oh! *You*. You’re John.”
John tried to smile and stuck out a shaking hand. “G-g-goooood-d-d t-to m-m-meet you,” he choked.
His rescuer -- *Rodney* -- stopping toweling him dry. “A handshake? You just *died* and you want me to shake your hand?”
“N-not like I’ve g-g-got c-c-cooties,” John retorted.
Someone in the audience sniggered, and John heard someone else whisper about CPR.
Oh, God. This guy had been giving him mouth-to-mouth resuscitation. His lips had been on John’s lips, breathing air into his lungs. His hands had been on John’s body, working the beat of his heart. He had brought John back to life.
Rodney moved the towel down around John’s shoulders and took his hand, holding it gently between both of his. “Come on, John, concentrate on me, here. The Jeep is on the way, and I really think it would reflect badly on me as your savior if you died again before they got here.”
John forced himself to smile weakly and lift his head for his first look at his rescuer.
Blue eyes were the first thing he noticed, blue eyes and a bloody nose in a tanned face with lank, water-darkened hair dripping down a broad forehead. Rodney sniffed and drew the back of his hand across his face, smearing blood and sand across his cheek and chin.
He smiled widely at John’s tentative efforts and squeezed his fingers lightly. “You probably broke my nose,” he groused, but didn’t sound serious. “No wonder nobody was in any hurry to rescue you . . . they probably knew you’d try to kill them.”
John shrugged, tried to apologize, but his teeth chattered too much to speak.
Rodney brushed sand from John’s face and cupped his cheek for a moment. “Your ride’s here,” he said softly. “Try not to get killed on the way to the hospital, okay?”
He stood, a little clumsily, backing away as the spectators crowded closer, making John panic with sudden claustrophobia and an odd sense of loss.
Someone reached out with a striped towel, worn and faded, and John watched as Rodney swiped it carelessly across his face and hair before draping it around his neck and just standing there for a moment, watching John with a crooked little smile on his face.
For a few minutes, John could keep an eye on him, and he felt secure, like nothing could hurt him if Rodney were there to protect him.
The lifeguards finally figured out that there was nothing left to watch, and they began chasing away the onlookers, waving flotation devices and shouting importantly.
Rodney disappeared, swallowed up by the crowd, and suddenly Don and Frank and all the rest of the guys were there, pushing the gawkers out of the way and loading John into Mike’s Jeep. Ronnie rode the back with John, holding onto him because Mike never did remember to pull the belts through after he’d dropped the seats, and Dino was driving like a wild man.
John looked out over Ronnie’s shoulder and watched the beach where he’d died fade into the brightness of the noonday sun.
***********************
Kill me . . . kill me now.
Oh . . . this part is officially dedicated to emrinalexander, for services rendered. ;)
John had always thought that drowning would be a peaceful way to go, but it really wasn’t.
Everything hurt, down to his fingernails. Even his hair.
Opening his eyes took some effort, and he lifted one hand weakly to rub away crusted salt and sand. A girl’s voice gasped, “He’s alive!”
“Of course he’s alive!” snapped an unfamiliar male voice. “This was rescue, not recovery!”
John started to chuckle, but gagged instead. Hard, competent hands moved swiftly and surely over his body, turning him to the side as he puked up what felt like most of the Atlantic Ocean.
“You there,” the voice rapped out. “Instead of posing for a cheesecake calendar, do you think you could, oh, I don’t know, maybe spare your Evian water for *the drowned guy* over here?”
The crowd tittered, and John heard a female voice scoff in outrage, “Oh, I’m surrrrrre!”
“Sure of *what*, exactly, no one knows,” the guy helping John muttered under his breath as he held a bottle to his lips. “Drink. All of it.”
John gulped until the bottle was removed, turned his head and threw up again.
“Good,” said the voice briskly. “Once more.”
John, miserably, did as he was told. Dizzy and disoriented, this time he turned his head in the wrong direction, and yakked all over his rescuer.
He heard the gathered crowd make a collective sound of disgust, and his face burned with embarrassment.
“’S okay,” the guy said softly, dabbing at John’s streaming eyes. When John finally managed to crack one eye open, he watched as broad, capable hands soaked a section of someone’s t-shirt in yet more bottled water, and resumed gently wiping at John’s face.
“S-sorry,” John choked out through teeth that had suddenly begun to chatter uncontrollably.
“You - make yourself useful and hand me that towel,” the guy barked. “This one, that one - emergency here, stop looking around for one that doesn’t belong to you!”
A shadow blocked the heat of the sun, and John shivered some more, even as practiced hands snugged first one, and then another, heavy towel around his shoulders.
“Hey, is he gonna be all right?”
A derisive snort sounded clearly. “Probably, as long as I can keep *you* far, far away from him.”
Fingertips on his face brought John back to awareness. “Hey, come on, stay with me now. You’re going into shock. I need you to focus on me.”
John tried to nod, and struggled to speak. “J-j-ohn,” he managed.
Hands were briskly rubbing a towel over his wet head. “Hm? No, my name’s Rodney. Oh! *You*. You’re John.”
John tried to smile and stuck out a shaking hand. “G-g-goooood-d-d t-to m-m-meet you,” he choked.
His rescuer -- *Rodney* -- stopping toweling him dry. “A handshake? You just *died* and you want me to shake your hand?”
“N-not like I’ve g-g-got c-c-cooties,” John retorted.
Someone in the audience sniggered, and John heard someone else whisper about CPR.
Oh, God. This guy had been giving him mouth-to-mouth resuscitation. His lips had been on John’s lips, breathing air into his lungs. His hands had been on John’s body, working the beat of his heart. He had brought John back to life.
Rodney moved the towel down around John’s shoulders and took his hand, holding it gently between both of his. “Come on, John, concentrate on me, here. The Jeep is on the way, and I really think it would reflect badly on me as your savior if you died again before they got here.”
John forced himself to smile weakly and lift his head for his first look at his rescuer.
Blue eyes were the first thing he noticed, blue eyes and a bloody nose in a tanned face with lank, water-darkened hair dripping down a broad forehead. Rodney sniffed and drew the back of his hand across his face, smearing blood and sand across his cheek and chin.
He smiled widely at John’s tentative efforts and squeezed his fingers lightly. “You probably broke my nose,” he groused, but didn’t sound serious. “No wonder nobody was in any hurry to rescue you . . . they probably knew you’d try to kill them.”
John shrugged, tried to apologize, but his teeth chattered too much to speak.
Rodney brushed sand from John’s face and cupped his cheek for a moment. “Your ride’s here,” he said softly. “Try not to get killed on the way to the hospital, okay?”
He stood, a little clumsily, backing away as the spectators crowded closer, making John panic with sudden claustrophobia and an odd sense of loss.
Someone reached out with a striped towel, worn and faded, and John watched as Rodney swiped it carelessly across his face and hair before draping it around his neck and just standing there for a moment, watching John with a crooked little smile on his face.
For a few minutes, John could keep an eye on him, and he felt secure, like nothing could hurt him if Rodney were there to protect him.
The lifeguards finally figured out that there was nothing left to watch, and they began chasing away the onlookers, waving flotation devices and shouting importantly.
Rodney disappeared, swallowed up by the crowd, and suddenly Don and Frank and all the rest of the guys were there, pushing the gawkers out of the way and loading John into Mike’s Jeep. Ronnie rode the back with John, holding onto him because Mike never did remember to pull the belts through after he’d dropped the seats, and Dino was driving like a wild man.
John looked out over Ronnie’s shoulder and watched the beach where he’d died fade into the brightness of the noonday sun.
***********************