Baywatch fic: Rocks and Hard Places (2/10)
PART ONE
PART TWO
PART THREE
PART FOUR
PART FIVE
PART SIX
PART SEVEN
PART EIGHT
PART NINE
PART TEN
-o-
So, Brody wasn’t moved by sailing.
He wasn’t moved by whales.
Well, he was moved by whales, just not in the direction Mitch had hoped.
Frankly, Mitch was running out of activities. He could have tried jet skis or kayaks. Or maybe snorkeling. Diving was a possibility, but Mitch could only think that taking Brody out into the vast ocean when he was expressly uncertain about the sealife beneath probably was not the best way to prove his point.
No, Brody was relational. He always had been.
Mitch had to make this about two guys, doing guy shit.
Bonding over the most magnificent backdrop in the world.
Not magnificent.
Exhilarating.
Thrilling.
Gorgeous.
Any adjective would do that Brody didn’t automatically associate with size or danger.
That said, Mitch had to push the ocean less, and focus on the time they spent together. He and Brody got along well enough, most of the time. When the ocean wasn’t the focal point, at any rate. If Mitch could just make this a relaxing trip back, then he’d see why people come out here to let go of their landlocked issues.
Mitch could do that.
Mitch would do that.
Pulling down the main rigging, Mitch left up only a supplemental sail. Then, he asked Brody to join him in the cabin.
Seeing as they were out at sea, Brody had no choice but to comply.
“Okay,” Mitch said, acting like this was just another day. “We’re going to start making our way back now.”
Brody was more than slightly surprised -- and pleasantly so. “Really?”
“Well, it took us hours to get out this far,” Mitch said. “It’ll take us hours to get back, especially if we want to be back before dark.”
This news was vaguely disappointing to Brody. His shoulders sank. “Oh.”
“Still plenty of time left for us to have some fun,” Mitch persisted.
Brody made a face of lackluster enthusiasm. “Great.”
Mitch would not be daunted. “Come here.”
Brody glanced around himself. “Um, yeah. I’m already here.”
“No, here,” Mitch said, nodding toward the controls in front of him. “You can give me a hand.”
The skeptical expression on Brody’s face was one he’d seen often over the course of the day.
“You’ve driven boats before, right?” Mitch asked.
“Sure,” Brody said. “When I could see the land.”
“It’s not that much different,” Mitch told him. “Besides, you’ve been sailing all afternoon.”
“I’ve been pulling ropes and throwing weight around,” Brody said. “Not actually trying to get us somewhere.”
Mitch rolled his eyes, straining for patience. He’d worked with kids before; this was a lot like that. Just worse. “You won two gold medals,” he said. “I think you can manage sailing.”
“You do realize that most people don’t just happen to know how to sail,” Brody told him, but he took a step or two closer anyway.
“When they live on the beach, they do,” Mitch told him, adjusting a few dials.
“But when do you even have time?” Brody asked, scrutinizing the controls. “You don’t even have a boat.”
“I grew up on the water,” Mitch explained, ever patient.
But Brody shook his head. “You say that like it’s normal.”
“Well, it’s more common than you think,” Mitch said.
“Really?” Brody asked. “Because I’d be curious to know the numbers. No one I knew had a clue about sailing.”
Mitch gave him a tired look. “You grew up in Iowa, dipshit. That hardly counts.”
“Yeah, and most of the country lives away from the coasts,” Brody countered. “I’m not the weird one compared to the majority of the population.”
“But you’re not living in the rest of the country,” Mitch said, checking the coordinates again and referencing them against the map. “You live here, on the bay. You’re a part of Baywatch. This is something we know how to do.”
Inexplicably, Brody was less than impressed. “Whatever,” he said, the note of resignation in his voice more pronounced than ever.
Mitch was losing him. Clearly, he couldn’t talk Brody into this. He wouldn’t be able to use reason or logic or poeticism.
No, Brody was a tactile learner.
“Here,” Mitch said abruptly, stepping away from the controls.
Brody wrinkled his brow, but didn’t move.
“Unless you want to stay out here on the ocean forever,” Mitch said, making a gesture in the direction where the shore would be.
“You want me to drive?” Brody asked in that tone of his, that one that suggested he knew this was a terrible idea but wanted to make sure that everyone else acknowledged the idea’s terribleness at the same time.
“Hey, I could stay out here all night, if you want,” he said. “We’d run out of gas eventually, but you know--”
Brody stepped forward, assuming the post with more vigor now. “Okay, okay,” he said. “But you’re going to have to tell me what to do.”
Mitch did his best to suppress his grin. “It’s not that hard,” he said, stepping back up alongside Brody. “You’ve got your navigation systems and your helm, which lets you control speed and direction.”
Brody nodded along, suddenly focused on the task at hand.
Mitch pointed as he explained. “We’ll start here, with the navigation,” he said. “You’ll want to make sure you know where we are and determine the heading to get back to shore.”
“With this?” Brody asked, instinctively pointing to a few of the right instruments.
“Exactly,” Mitch said. “You use this data to input into your helm.”
“Here, right?” Brody asked, picking up the next logical bit of information faster than Mitch expected.
“Yep, and we’ll need to get the engine going--”
But Brody had already turned it on, revving it slightly until it purred.
Mitch smiled at him in approval. “There you go.”
Brody grinned back. “And we’re good to go?”
Mitch nodded back out to the sea ahead of them. “Drive on.”
This was one request that Brody happily obliged.
-o-
It was funny.
Brody could be an epic pain in the ass. He could be moody and inconsistent. He could be dumb as rocks and finnicky. He also had a tendency to make the worst possible choices at the worst possible times.
In equal turns, Brody could also be fun and upbeat. He could be intuitive and easygoing. He sometimes had the tendency to learn from his mistakes and become a better person for them.
He had a propensity to drive for success, which was only matched by his habit of simultaneously seeking failure.
All in all, he was a strange contradiction. He wasn’t like anyone else at Baywatch, a point that Mitch found only heightened by the fact that he was still crashing on Mitch’s cot in the spare room at his house. He’d taken in strays from time to time, but Brody was the only one who’d stayed. Like some homeless street cat who didn’t know how to stop being wild but really liked warm milk.
That was why it was funny. Brody drove him crazy, but he’d kind of come to rely on that craziness. As much as he’d forced Brody out here, it was obvious that Brody was enjoying himself. When Mitch wasn’t shoving the ocean down his throat, Brody seemed to like being on the boat, spending time with Mitch.
Yet, Mitch was fairly certain, if he asked, Brody would still be indifferent to the ocean.
That contradiction fit with Brody, but it was beginning to drive Mitch nuts. Mitch’s life was neat and orderly. Everything fit in its proper place and made total sense.
Brody defied all of that.
What was Mitch supposed to do with that?
Did he accept it?
Did he keep fighting?
Would Brody come to love the ocean someday when he was here long enough?
And did he actually matter?
If Brody was happy, if he was a meaningful part of the team and Mitch’s life, did it matter what he thought of the ocean?
Before Mitch could entertain that thought, Brody cleared his throat, glancing back at Mitch.
Mitch smiled politely in return, pretending that he hadn’t been studying Brody with undue concern and curiosity.
Brody, at least, seemed to have other things on his mind. “So, um,” he started, as if about to broach a conversation he wasn’t sure was appropriate. “Like, I don’t know much about weather or anything.”
Mitch was on his feet, because he looked past Brody, toward the patch of growing dark clouds south of them on the horizon.
“I’ve been watching it for a while,” Brody said, a note of unease in his voice again. “And I thought, you know, it’s south of us, so if we keep our heading, maybe we’d just run parallel or whatever.”
Mitch judged its distance; he judged the wind and the overall directionality of the waves.
“But, um,” Brody hedged. “I think it’s headed--”
“Northeast,” he said. “More north than east.”
This declaration seemed in line with what Brody had been thinking. Which only served to visibly unnerve the younger man more. “Can we outrun it or something?” Brody asked.
Mitch considered this; he’d been considering it since he first saw the patch. It looked wide, but there was no telling how deep the system went. “How long have you been tracking it?”
Brody shrugged. “Ten minutes,” he said. “Maybe fifteen.”
That meant it was moving fast. Fast was good, more often than not. Those storms passed over within a matter of minutes. Fifteen minutes, and the whole ordeal was over.
It also meant that you couldn’t very well outrun it, though. Sure, Mitch might be able to skirt it, but if they were in this thing’s path, there wasn’t anywhere to go. Their best bet -- really, their only bet -- was to prep the boat and ride through it.
“Well?” Brody asked, clearly waiting for some kind of declaration. “I swear, if you tell me it’s beautiful--”
Mitch grunted, a small bemused sound as he slid Brody out of the way at the controls. “Well, it is beautiful--”
Brody glared at him.
“But fine, it’s a little dangerous,” Mitch conceded.
“Okay,” Brody said, obviously trying to keep his wits about him. “So what are our options? We go around it? We charge at it and get through it fast?”
Mitch was already making calculations based on the data, referencing just how many miles out from shore they still were. “Well, neither of those options is very efficient,” he explained.
“Well, yeah, they both suck,” Brody said. “But I mean, I’m with you. All choices where you’re concerned are rocks or hard places.”
“What?” Mitch asked, looking up from his work.
“You’re all about shitty options,” Brody told him. “Go boating, get fired. Go through storm, try to go around it. It’s like whatever I pick with you, I need to count on being screwed.”
“Dude, boating with me is not getting screwed,” Mitch objected.
“Oh, sorry,” Brody said, holding up his hands in mock protest. “Your emotional blackmail attempt to get me to love the ocean was completely fun.”
“And your awesome attitude, which goes between indifference and outright contempt, is awesome, too.”
Brody’s mouth dropped open. “Well, maybe if you didn’t blackmail onto this boat in the first place--”
“Whatever, princess,” Mitch said with a condescending snort. “Let’s just figure this thing out and talk about your emotional incapacity later.”
Brody scowled but didn’t disagree.
There was probably room for a quip here, but Mitch looked out at the horizon. The clouds were building, darker, more ominous, closer. They could banter later.
“I need you to go on deck, start securing anything loose,” Mitch ordered, trying not to make it sound urgent.
It still sounded urgent to Brody. “Is this going to be bad? We’re going through?”
Mitch was adjusting his heading, calculating a better trajectory to cut around the storm. “You said it yourself, it’s not really a choice,” he said. “We’ll avoid what we can, but at this point, I don’t think we can avoid it.”
Brody looked somewhat grim. “Rocks and hard places.”
“Eh,” Mitch said, refusing to indulge in anything resembling worry. “We’re as well prepared as we can be.”
This assertion made Brody even more dubious than before. “Are we?”
“Oh, come on,” Mitch prodded him. “You scared? First whales and now storms?”
“I’m not scared of whales, damn it,” Brody snapped. He bobbed his head toward the looming clouds growing in the distance. “And I simply hold a proper respect for storms.”
“Uh huh,” Mitch said, letting his noncommittal tone speak for itself. “No storms in Iowa either?”
“No, we had lots of storms in Iowa, way more storms than you get here,” Brody said. “But we had the good sense to take cover during a storm. Like, we had drills on it. Lots of drills. There were sirens and warnings and the local news cut into programming to talk you through every storm so no one would be an idiot and be outside.”
“That sounds like overkill,” Mitch observed.
“No, that’s being prepared. First step: take cover.”
“Well, corn boy,” Mitch said lightly. “I don’t see any cover out here.”
“Exactly,” Brody said. “Another reason that the ocean is completely overrated.”
Mitch gave Brody his best dead expression. The conversation had come full circle at least. They were consistent, the two of them. At least they had that going for them. “Shut up and secure the deck,” he said. “You have the emotional capacity of a damn coconut. Your opinion doesn’t count.”
Brody held up his hands, signaling his indifference to the insult as he made his way outside to get to work.
Mitch eyed the storm while he left.
They were totally fine, he concluded as he adjusted his heading and increased his speed.
Totally, totally fine.
-o-
With some creative navigating, Mitch got them ahead of the storm in most respects, but it was pitching in their direction at an increasing speed. Brody had just managed to secure the items on deck when the first when the first peels of thunder shook the cabin. When the lightning flashed outside, Mitch yelled for him to come in.
Brody wasted no time in complying, ducking inside as another crack of lightning split the sky and the wind picked up its pace. The clouds were nearly overhead now, and Mitch could feel the boat pitching against the waves as they started to thrash against the sides.
“Shit,” Brody cursed as another gale blew up, strong than before. Brody had to brace himself against one of the consoles. “I thought you said we’d avoid the worst of it.”
“We have,” Mitch told him, dogged piloting the boat onward. “But I also told you we’d hit some of it.”
The thunder was deafening now as it sounded overhead, and a dramatic streak of lightning touched down in the water not far away as a slow thunk of rain started on the roof.
Brody paled, looking out the windows with increasing trepidation. “You’ve got it under control, right?”
For as much as Brody was a total smart ass, there was something strangely vulnerable about that question. Like he was some little kid, looking to Mitch to handle all the problems of the world. It was a stupidly naive question. Mitch counted himself as oceanic, but he wasn’t some demigod or something. In the end, he was still some dude with good instincts in a boat against the sea. If the sea wanted to, it would win this round.
That was no answer for Brody, especially not an answer that Mitch could give while trying to convince Brody that the ocean was the best thing ever.
Instead, he anchored his feet to the ground, striving for calm as the waves loomed higher and the sky was consumed with low lying black clouds. “Sure,” he said easily.
Brody was not so easily taken with this lie, however. “Sure?”
“I’m doing everything I can do,” Mitch said.
“But you said earlier we didn’t have a choice,” Brody reminded him, going even paler as another bolt of lightning hit right off the bow and the thunder was so loud that it rumbled in their chests.
“Some things don’t require choices,” Mitch said, trying to steer them over a large wave that was cresting in their path. The boat dipped ominously, and Brody stumbled forward, nearly losing his footing.
He looked up at Mitch, his pretense of self control gone. “Well, you better have it together, man,” he said. “Because I’m trusting you to get me through this, okay?”
Mitch grimaced, unable to spare a glance at Brody. He made it like he was too busy trying to navigate, but really, how could you look at someone after that? How did someone who pissed you off all the time go and make you feel guilty with one damn sentence.
Of all the times for Brody to listen to him.
Mitch’s fingers were tight on the controls, as he tried to predict the next gust of wind that threatened to topple them. Brody was white-knuckled, right by his side.
Of all the damn times.
-o-
Despite the fact that Brody looked ready to piss his pants, the storm went pretty much how Mitch expected it to. It was rough, loud, and jostling, but with a little persistence and a lot of intuition, Mitch was able to keep them afloat, steering them as efficiently as he could out of the storm’s center to what he hoped was clear skies on the other sides. It was about five minutes of tense agony, five minutes of controlled fear, and Mitch started to see a sliver of blue at the edge of the horizon.
Brody seemed to experience this differently. He experience ten minutes of unrelenting panic, barely contained by the vestiges of his pride. Mitch had given him vague orders to close the windows and lock the doors, before finally just telling him to put on a lifejacket and sit quietly until things were over.
Clad in his life jacket, Brody forced one onto Mitch before sitting down, tucking himself in anxiously on himself. Mitch humored him by throwing his jacket on before pulling them over the top of another high wave. The end of the storm was more tumultuous than its center, and Mitch knew that these final swells would be the most perilous yet.
Mitch could handle the ocean, though.
He could.
He would.
From his seat nearby, Brody shook his head, yelling at Mitch over the raging of the storm. “You know, this isn’t going to convince that the ocean’s amazing!”
Brody wasn’t won over by fishing, sailing or navigating. At least this way he might have a deeper respect for the ocean’s power.
If Mitch didn’t kill him first.
“Shut up!” Mitch yelled back. “And grab onto something. This last bit will be bumpy!”
“And what has the rest been!?” Brody called back, but he still reached out to steady himself.
Mitch managed a grin, even as he carefully maneuvered the boat a little farther to the side. “Just another day at the beach.”
-o-
By all accounts, this hadn’t been the day Mitch had planned. While most of this was Brody’s fault because he was an ignorant idiot, Mitch would blame some of it on the ocean itself.
Brody would be insufferable after this.
Well, more insufferable.
Besides, if Brody had just been a normal person and liked the ocean, none of this would have ever happened.
“Dude, what is that?” Brody called.
Mitch looked at him, surprised to see him pointing out the window in the opposite direction of the storm clouds. He probably hadn’t grasped how close they were to be on the other side; he probably didn’t understand that this ordeal was almost over.
Brody never did understand shit.
But, then, Mitch looked.
Yes, he saw the growing sliver of blue sky.
Which was beautifully showcasing a land mass.
Mitch cursed.
He’d been so busy watching the storm that he’d neglected to pay attention to the sea itself.
“Are we back already?” Brody asked, getting to his feet, as if somewhat hopeful.
Mitch looked at his gauges, but he didn’t have time to cross reference the map. This island was big enough; it was probably charted. But it wasn’t so big that it was probably developed for anything, not that Mitch would know. He’d charted their course, but he’d veered off badly for the sake of the storm. If this island had any shoals, Mitch would already be in them.
“I thought we were still miles out,” Brody said, sounding more confused by the second.
He didn’t get it.
How the hell did he not get it?
How the hell did Mitch not see this coming?
The sea was one thing; the land was another. Where the two met? It was always chaos.
As quickly as he could without tipping them, Mitch directed the boat back out, toward the storm. He needed to get some clearance; if they hit a shoal--
“Wait, we’re going back?” Brody asked.
“Sure,” Mitch said, grimacing as the boat lurched in the throes of wind.
“But why?” Brody asked.
“Remember that thing about rocks and hard places?” Mitch asked.
“Yes?” Brody said, still not sure why it mattered.
“This time it’s rocks and sea,” he said, flinching as the boat scraped against something.
Brody’s eyes widened as he felt the shimmy and heard the creak.
Mitch bit down hard, concentrating with all he had. “This time, I think you definitely want the sea.”
They were buffeted by another large wave, and Brody nearly fell over again. “What the hell?”
The boat screeched again, and Mitch felt the resistance pulling on the controls. He shook his head; he was navigating blind here, and with the storm’s activity, it was impossible to stay still long enough to get any kind of bearing.
Brody was clinging to a console, trying to keep his feet. “But I thought it was almost over,” he said. “Aren’t we almost out of it?”
“We are,” Mitch said, making his best guess through another set of waves.
The next gust of wind had them jarring hard. “But what the hell is happening!”
“You wanted land, right?” Mitch asked harshly, biting back a curse as he felt the force of the wind try to topple their mast now.
Brody’s look of incredulity was about as epic as the storm outside.
They turned unexpected in a gale, and the boat gave a long, horrible shudder.
“Well,” Mitch said grimly. “I’m pretty sure we got land.”
-o-
Mitch gave it all he had.
And for Mitch, that was always a lot.
Usually it was enough.
This trip was not about usuallys, though.
This was all Brody’s fault.
This was all Brody’s fault.
-o-
In the end, it was one wave too many. One gust of wind too hard. One rock too sharp that Mitch couldn’t see.
But he felt it. He felt it as it ripped a hole in the side of the boat, and he almost heard the gush of water as it poured into the lower deck. This threw them badly off balance; worse, it made navigation close to impossible.
Mitch had no way to correct their heading, no way to right their mast. One gust, one wave -- and that was it.
Mitch knew what was coming next.
He looked to Brody, who was still staring at him with wide-eyed terror. He didn’t have a clue what came next.
Well, Mitch thought as he let go of the controls. At least Brody already hated the ocean.
“Brace yourself!” Mitch yelled out.
Brody looked at him, horrified. “What? Why?”
Mitch took the time to buckle his life jacket before grabbing hard onto the console with both hands. “Because we’re going over!”
“What?” Brody screamed back, fumbling back as he tried to grab onto something. “We’re going over?”
“Probably!” Mitch confirmed, anticipating the next gust of breeze as it toppled them dangerously against the rocks.
“Like into the ocean?” Brody clarified. It seemed unnecessary, but Brody seemed a little past reason at this point.
“And the rocks,” Mitch told him. “That’s our real problem right now!”
Brody did not seem to care about this point. They lurched, the mast creaking dangerous as it wavered at an angle, tilting the whole boat with it. “Are we going to die?”
“You’ve swam in the ocean before,” Mitch reminded him, even as the boat started to list to the side even more. “We’ll be fine.”
They were clearly at an angle now, and precipitously so. “Are you sure about that?”
Mitch tried to shrug, but he was too busy trying not to lose his footing and slide to the side. “Mostly!”
Brody looked like he could be crying now. “Mostly?”
There wasn’t any point to this. It didn’t change anything. The choice was out of their hands now. There were no rocks, no hard places.
Just the whole damn ocean.
As it prepared to swallow them whole.
“Just hold on!” Mitch yelled, his last bit of advice.
He hoped it was enough as the wave came over them, crashing over the deck and sending them toppling over, the boat crashing to the side and upside down. They hit hard, the sound of boards splintering and thunder peeling as Mitch lost his grip and fell hard. He hit the window, the force of his weight shattering it. He managed one last breath as he saw Brody still holding on, face contorted as Mitch slipped through the window into the dark waves below.
-o-
The ocean took him in, but Mitch wasn’t afraid. He knew the ocean; he understood the ocean. He knew its ebb and flow; and he could ride the waves and the riptides all the way back home.
This wasn’t just him, however.
This was Brody, too.
Mitch stiffened reflexively, pulling against the current.
He had to go back.
As he swam hard, he was pulled back harder. He should have known better; you can’t fight the ocean and win.
Mitch knew that.
Yet it would be his mistake this time.
There was no time to dwell on it, though. The ocean threw him unrelentingly back, and he crashed hard into something.
And then everything went black.
-o-
Mitch was oceanic.
Now, this was the kind of shit one said when they were jacked up on urchin venom and facing down a mad woman who wanted to kill them and take over the bay. It was the fantastical verbiage that one might associate with a force of nature or a demigod or whatever. If anyone else said it, it would sound ridiculous.
But when Mitch said it, it was just true.
Mitch was oceanic.
He opened his eyes.
He wasn’t oceanic.
He was just in the ocean.
Literally.
He blinked a few times, thinking about this fact and trying to make sense of it. The sky ahead was blue and clear; the ocean choppy and cool.
Huh, a perfect day.
Mitch’s face screwed up, as he tried to figure out what was wrong with that thought.
He bobbed in the waves, the life jacket keeping him up.
A life jacket?
Mitch moved with the waves again, this time banging into a piece of wood. He craned his neck to look at it. It was debris.
From the boat.
That he’d just crashed.
In the storm.
These realizations cascaded over him rapidly, settling on the most horrifying conclusion of all.
“Brody!” he yelled, turning over to start swimming. He had to pause, wiping a streak of blood from his eye from a wound somewhere on the top of his head. It throbbed, but it didn’t slow him down any more than that. He started again, spitting out salt water as he took strong, even strokes. “Brody!”
As he swam, Mitch took stock of his situation. The boat wasn’t too far away, but it was a bit of a haul. Clearly, he had drifted while unconscious. The boat, which had been ripped open on the rocks, was bobbing, still caught on the shoals as it took on water. It was probably a matter of time before it filled with water and wrested its way free, down to the deeper depths nearby.
Given his distance from the boat and the choppiness of the seas, he could guess that not too much time had passed. That coincided with the head injury -- probably not serious -- and the position of the clouds as they moved in the other direction. Five minutes. Tops.
That wasn’t a terribly long time, but in the ocean?
Shit, it took way less than five minutes for someone to drown. Even if they were conscious. If they were unconscious and submerged...well then five minutes meant it was game over.
These thoughts passed quickly, and Mitch absolutely refused to consider them more deeply. It was not an outcome he accepted.
Instead, he swam harder. “Brody!” he shouted, letting his voice bellow across the waves. “Answer me!”
His muscles were tight by the time he reached the boat, and he tread water, looking for any sign of Brody among the debris. Swimming farther, he checked on all sides, but there was no sign of Brody anywhere.
“Brody!” he called again, refusing to panic. The last he’d seen Brody, he’d been inside the boat. There was a chance he was still inside.
And since the boat was still technically afloat, there was still a chance that Brody was alive in there.
Thus determined, Mitch set about assessing his best way in. The boat was partially submerged, mostly tipped over. One side listed higher than the other, but the left entrance was fully submerged. He had to swim his way around again, finding the right one only halfway beneath the water.
“Brody!” he said, holding onto the door frame to draw himself closer. “Talk to me, man!”
Then, remarkably, there was a muted but definitive reply. “Mitch?”
“Brody!”
This time, there was audible relief. “Mitch!”
Mitch only thought momentarily about the stability of the structure -- on the rocks, filling with water, it was a matter of time before the whole thing went down.
But, Mitch reflected without further pretense, he couldn’t very well let it go down with Brody inside. Which meant Mitch had to go get him out.
The boat creaked, groaning ominously.
Mitch girded himself. He had to get Brody out quickly.
Mitch ducked through the entrace, bobbing up on the other side of the cabin. Upside down, the cabin was hard to recognize, and the loose items were floating askance with some of the debris from the ship. The cabin was more than half filled with water, and the windows on the far side were fully submerged at this point.
All of that was besides the point. The point was, where the hell was Brody?
“Mitch!”
Mitch turned, getting his bearings in the cabin in its current state. He was slightly turned around, but Brody’s voice served to anchor him a bit. “Brody!”
The other man was there, tucked into one of the corners that was elevated above the waterline. It seemed like an odd choice to Mitch, but Brody had been moderately close to panic. If less than five minutes had passed, it was likely he was still in shock and holding on for dear life as Mitch had instructed before they went over.
Keeping his own head above water, Mitch swam across to him, batting aside the debris. “Come on,” he said. “We need to get out of here.”
Brody blinked a few times, looking confused. He seems to be struggling to make sense of the situation. “I -- yeah,” he said, brow furrowed. “I don’t -- like, I’m not sure I can move?”
He said it like a question, like he wasn’t even sure. Brody was more panicked than Mitch had assumed.
Fortunately, Mitch was a trained lifeguard. He dealt with panicking people all the time. He crossed the rest of the distance until he was treading water right in front of Brody. “Sure you can,” he said. “We’ll do it together.”
Up close, Brody looked more disoriented than before. The color, which had drained from his face during the storm, had not recovered. In fact, he looked strangely pallid, and he was wracked with a vague tremble as his breathing hitched with uncertainty. “I think I’m stuck,” he said, like he wasn’t totally sure how or why that had happened.
Mitch frowned a little, assessing Brody’s position a little closer. He was wedged somewhat firmly into a tight corner, where the console had been broken away from the wall in the force of the crash. He was still in his life jacket, but Mitch could tell that it wasn’t the jacket that was keeping him afloat. Instead, his position alone was enough to keep him above water.
“You just need to push off,” Mitch said. “We have to get out of here.”
Brody appeared to try, but the slightest movement made his face twist up in obvious pain as he bit back a cry. He shook his head. “I can’t get out.”
Mitch felt his patience start to flag. Victims were one thing, but Brody was better than this under pressure. Mitch knew it. “Come on, man,” Mitch said. “Are you sure you can’t move?”
Brody’s head snapped up, still with lines of pain around his features. “Do you think I like staying here? I’m in a sinking boat. In the ocean,” he said, voice wavering on the words. “But I don’t think I can move.”
“Alright, alright,” Mitch said quickly, because his goal was to keep Brody calm, not to rile him up. “Then tell me what’s wrong. Why can’t you move?”
Brody thought about this question quite seriously. He looked embarrassed when he spoke. “I haven’t toally figured it out yet.”
Mitch tried to ignore the sound of the boat as it shimmied around them. “What do you mean?”
Now, Brody just looked apologetic. “I kind of keep passing out,” he admitted. “A lot.”
That certainly wasn’t the news Mitch had wanted to hear. He looked at Brody more studiously, understanding the pallid complexion in a different light now. He leaned himself down, trying to get a good look into Brody’s eyes, which were somewhat clouded. “How long has it been?”
Brody smiled, a little pathetic looking. “I was going to ask you.”
This was getting them nowhere. They could talk about it more -- outside. When they were safe. “Okay,” he said, reaching out for Brody. “Let’s get you out of here.”
He grabbed Brody by the wrist, starting to guide him out of his crevice. He stopped quickly, though, at the sound of Brody’s pained yelp.
“What?” he said, pausing long enough to take stock of the situation again.
Brody’s breathing had quickened again. When his eyes met Mitch’s, they were glassy with pain. “I think I’m hurt.”
That was a strangely understated commented, given their current predicament. Mitch was hurt, too. You couldn’t be flung from a sinking ship during a storm without getting banged around. “Can you be more specific?”
Brody blinked a few times, as if that question caught him a little off guard. He swallowed with a wince. “I don’t think it’s that bad, maybe,” he said, though he sounding like he was trying to convince himself of that. “Maybe my ribs, I think.”
Mitch frowned, not sure if he had time for this. But broken ribs could cause all sorts of problems. He reached out, tentatively running his hands along the life jacket, looking for any sign of a problem. The life jacket was intact, however. “Did you get tossed around when it flipped?”
That question, of course, was obvious, but Brody’s assessment of it might still help him figure out what was wrong. “Yeah, a lot,” Brody said. “I hit a few things pretty hard.”
Blunt force trauma, probably. Bruised or broken ribs would be impossible to see in these conditions, and Mitch wasn’t ready to take off the life jacket until they were back on land. “We’ll check when we get you out of here,” he said shortly, moving in closer to better brace Brody for their next effort.
Brody seemed to accept this, at least until they tried moving again. Mitch gave a firm pull, and this time, Brody cried out in agony.
“What?” Mitch asked, even more confused than before. “What’s wrong?”
Brody was crying now, even as he tried he round up his emotions. “I really think I’m hurt, man.”
Blowing out a tense breath, Mitch looked again. The jacket was intact; there was no sign of obvious head wound. Arms were clear. “But -- where--”
Mitch stopped when his hands got to Brody’s abdomen.
Just like that, he answered his own question.
There, sticking through the side of Brody’s abdomen, was a piece of something sharp and metal.
This time, it was Brody who asked, “What?”
Mitch said nothing, running his fingers along the length of the metal, tracking it through Brody’s front and then out through the back where it then connected to the wall where the broken console had been sheared away. It was relatively thin but hard. Worse, the metal was still attached to the boat.
And Brody was attached to it.
“What?” Brody asked again, voice hitching precariously. “It’s like, what, a scratch or something?”
Mitch was still trying to figure out where the rod was jammed through -- if it had hit the intestines or the stomach, Brody was as good as dead already -- but if it was to the side, away from the vital organs--
Brody looked down, following the trajectory of Mitch’s hands before he could stop him.
“Oh shit!”
Mitch reached out, bracing Brody immediately. “Hold still!”
But Brody was a little past reason at this point. “Is that -- shit, is it going through my side?” he asked, well on his way to panicking now.
“It looks that way, yes,” Mitch hissed, still trying to ensure that the metal was low enough that it hadn’t hit Brody’s lungs. Compromised breathing would be another death sentence this far out.
Brody swore, crying again. “Shit,” he said between halting breaths. “Oh, shit. I’m dead, aren’t I?” He looked at Mitch with wide, terrified eyes. “How am I not dead?”
Around them, the boat keened again, listing even more to the side as the water continued to inch higher. Mitch was running out of time.
Brody looked about two second away from completely losing his shit.
Mitch was really out of time.
He fabricated calm, keeping his hands steady on Brody’s shoulders. “You’re not dead because you’re still impaled.”
Brody’s face contorted into a barely controlled sob.
Mitch continued. “And because I don’t think it hit anything vital. If you’re going to get impaled, this isn’t a bad way to do it.”
Brody shook his head, the incredulity competing with his panic. “It’s my body, man,” he said. “Isn’t it all kind of vital?”
“Sure,” Mitch said. “But if you’d perforated your intestines or knicked your heart, you’d probably be dead already.”
“Seriously?” Brody demanded, anger cutting through his other emotions. “Is that your version of a pep talk right now?”
It was; moreover, it had worked. Brody was pissed enough to not completely lose control of himself. That was all Mitch needed.
The boat creaked, another window cracking behind them.
Well, Mitch needed more time, too.
“Look,” he said, trying to bring both of their focus back around to the task at hand. “It doesn’t matter a lot right now.”
“How can it not matter?!”
“We have to get you out of here,” Mitch said flatly.
“I’m impaled on a piece of metal!” Brody hissed.
“Yeah, and the boat’s sinking,” Mitch countered, just as vehement.
Brody’s confusion would have been comical in another context. “But...boats float.”
“When they’re not totaled, sure,” Mitch said. “But we flipped this one and ran it onto the rocks. This one is going down, and if we don’t hurry, it’s going to take you with it.”
This seemed to make some sense to Brody. He nodded. “Okay.”
Brody hadn’t figured out the next detail, unfortunately.
Mitch sighed. “The rod is attached to the boat still.”
Brody nodded, but he still didn’t get it.
“I have to take the rod out,” Mitch said.
Brody’s reaction was about as bombastic as Mitch expected it to be. “Are you crazy!”
“Well, it’s not like you were super happy about having it through your side two seconds ago,” Mitch argued, losing just a touch of his patience.
“But won’t taking it out kill me?” Brody asked.
It was not an unreasonable question, in all honesty.
But there wasn’t time for compassion or reason.
The water was filling faster now, rising imperceptibly higher. “Not if we’re smart about it.”
“How can you be smart about pulling shit that’s been driven through your body?” Brody asked angrily.
“We do it fast, we get you out of here,” Mitch said. “We just have to control the bleeding and you’ll be fine.”
Brody was already shaking his head. “I think we should leave it in. Less bleeding.”
“Sure, but if you leave it in, you’re going down with this boat,” Mitch said plaintively. “Remember, that metal is attached to the boat and we do not have time to break it off, even if I did have the tools.”
Cursing again, Brody looked completely forlorn for a moment. “So I drown or I bleed to death?”
The way Brody’s voice wavered took the contempt out of Mitch’s voice. He smiled sympathetically. “Back to that rock and a hard place,” he said. “But I promise you, you let me pull it out, you have a fighting chance.”
Brody’s ire had faded, too. Now, he just looked scared. “Not totally seeing the chance.”
“I’m right here, man,” Mitch vowed. “I’m your chance.”
Mitch’s fortitude only made Brody seem more pathetic. He had no argument; he had no willpower left. His surrender was inevitable, but he offered it anyway. “You’re going to get me out?”
“I’m going to get you out,” Mitch promised. “And we’re getting to shore. And we’re getting back home to Baywatch.”
Miserably, Brody looked away.
Mitch tried to be patient as the boat cracked violently, sending shudders through the water. “Come on,” he said. “We’re running out of time.”
Brody nodded once, and then again as he tried to find something resembling resolve. Even so, his voice sounded younger than normal when he spoke. “Is it going to hurt?”
People asked shit like that when they were scared. People asked shit like that when they thought they were going to die.
Mitch had always understood it.
But he understood it a little better now.
Because he knew Brody.
Because Brody was here on account of him.
Because Brody was his responsibility.
And because Brody was going to die if Mitch didn’t say the right thing right now.
“Well, probably a little,” Mitch conceded, as if it were almost unimportant. “But drowning’s way worse.”
Brody let out a short, strained chuckled. “Yeah, I’ve done that, too, remember?”
“There you go,” Mitch said. “This one’s going to be a piece of cake!”
With another strangled laugh, Brody shook his head. “I hate you.”
Mitch nodded, patting him on the shoulder understandingly. “I know,” he said. “But you’ll be fine.”
Brody’s smile faded as he struggled to maintain his composure. The boat was careening to the side dramatically now; they were down to minutes. “You promise?”
“Sure,” Mitch said, moving himself into position, ignoring the water as it lapped against his face. “Now, one--”
Brody inhaled deeply, visibly steeling himself. Mitch put one hand on Brody’s torso, using the other to provide tension against the wall.
“Two--”
The boat moaned, a long grating noise simmering in the water. Mitch tightened his grip, enhancing his own resolve.
“Three!”
Mitch pulled, using his supreme upper body control to both stabilize Brody and keep him on a straight trajectory. If the conditions had been better, he would have gauged the angle of the metal more closely, but there was no way to do that under the water. Not when the boat was actively sinking around them.
There was some resistance at first as the metal caught along the edges of the wound. Mitch didn’t let that stop him. If he was going to do this, he was going to do it now, quickly, with one clean, movement. That was best for Brody.
It was best for him, too.
He could talk big, but he knew what he was doing. He knew that he was literally pulling metal out of someone he counted as a friend, someone he felt responsible for. Necessary as this was, thinking too hard about the metal slithering against Brody’s insides threatened to make him squeamish, too.
One strong movement, and it was over.
Brody cried out, an inarticulate howl of pain that seemed to be ripped from somewhere deep inside him. His entire body was taut, head pressed into Mitch’s shoulder as Mitch held him fast, feeling the rapid throb of his heartbeat through the water. There wasn’t much time, but Mitch allowed him a minute.
Head ducked, Brody was choking on his sobs, his entire body trembling. He gasped, trying to take a breath. When he lifted his head, he was even shakier. Looking at Mitch, he swore. “Dude. That hurt. A lot.”
Mitch gave a small shrug. “Of course it did.”
Brody exhaled heavily, catching on another sob. “Are you shitting me? You lied to my face.”
“Would you have rather have known that it was going to hurt like hell?” Mitch asked.
Brody let his head drop again, back against Mitch’s shoulders. “I thought you didn’t say things you didn’t mean.”
“When I have to, I will,” Mitch told him, glancing anxiously around. The cabin was tilted even more to one side. The only corner still afloat was theirs. This was both good and bad, Mitch knew. Good because they still had air. Bad because they were running even shorter on time.
“So when you say I’m not going to die?” Brody asked.
Mitch looked back at him, a bit surprised. Brody’s blue eyes were big and credulous, and Mitch found himself shaken. It wasn’t the equivocation he was most comfortable with at the moment. When he spoke, he didn’t want to think it was a lie. “That one I meant,” he said, hoping it for his sake and Brody’s. “But first we have to get out of here.”
Brody groaned but he seemed to buck himself up. “Whatever, man,” he said. “I’ve followed you this far.”
Mitch grunted, rotating Brody so his back was against his own. “What’s a little farther, right?”
-o-
A little farther was a relative distinction. Mitch could swim that distance easy. So could Brody, most of the time. But when they were in a sinking boat and Brody was actively bleeding? It seemed a whole lot farther.
The boat was creaking nearly continuously now as the water levels rose dangerously. Mitch bobbed through the debris, which was starting to collect even more in the closing open pocket, and he did his best to help Brody keep his head above water. Brody, for his part, was trying, but Mitch knew better than to count on much.
He kept an arm threaded around Brody’s chest, keeping him secure against himself. Using a deft side stroke, Mitch was able to cut through the water efficiently at least, tugging Brody along with him. In his grip, Brody’s body was taut with pain, and while he showed no signs of fighting Mitch, he also hadn’t moved to help their escape.
After all, now that Brody was free from the metal, they were still facing the other problem. Brody was bleeding.
A lot.
The closer they got to the exit, the more blood effused into the water. Brody was too focused on keeping his head above water -- face screwed up in pain -- so at least he didn’t see it. Still, it was a clear indication: Brody wasn’t going to be any help now.
That was just as well, Mitch told himself, crossing the last of the distance toward the exit. This had been Mitch’s idea. It had been his plan. He had to see it through to completion, one way or another.
Besides, Mitch was the veteran lifeguard here. This was the sort of shit he did for a living.
This was just another day in the office.
Even if he was decidedly pretty far from the office right now.
The boat lurched, and Mitch avoided the shifting debris as best he could. The water had nearly filled the cabin now, and the boat made a terrible noise. Death throes. Mitch knew their time was running out. They’d had minutes before. It was down to a matter of seconds.
Worse, Mitch realized as they approached, the exit was now submerged.
He glanced at Brody, who was blinking blearily in his arms. The short swim had nearly depleted what little energy he’d had left. With a jostle, Mitch tried to bring his attention around to the issue at hand. “You up for a dive?”
It was a moot point; they had to swim. But he preferred to go under while Brody was aware and conscious. The ocean was great for many things. It was not great for CPR, however. He needed to not let Brody drown when they were this close to escape.
Brody made great efforts to focus. “Do I have a choice?”
The words were weak, pained and honest. But they were coherent. That was all Mitch needed. “We’ve talked about that,” Mitch said. “So just leave the diving to me. I want you to focus on holding your breath. The last thing you need is water in your lungs.”
“What?”
“Deep breath,” Mitch coached.
Brody’s brow creased as he shook his head. “I need a minute.”
“Ready?”
“Shit.”
“Go.”
There was no further warning. Mitch dove, taking Brody with him, still tight against his chest. Brody flailed momentarily under the surface, but he seemed to get his wits about him as Mitch navigated them down, finding the open door frame under the surface. It was awkward work -- debris had started to collect in the area, and Mitch had to push some of it out of the way, mindful of Brody in his arms, still holding his breath with a slightly frantic look in his eye, like his panic was just barely held at bay.
Behind them, Mitch could see the trail of blood marking their escape in the water.
Mitch had nearly braced himself on the door frame, ready to kick up when the boat shifted downward again, this time even more dramatically. Mitch barely had time to adjust, sidling them through the opening as the cabin slipped from his grip. Using his strong swimming skills, Mitch compensated quickly, dragging Brody clear of the sinking vessel.
In his grip, Brody’s body started to seize as the panic took hold.
Mitch was running out of time in more ways than one.
Kicking hard, Mitch cleared the boat, moving past the debris field. Behind him, he could feel the boat tremble in the water, and soon the entire ocean was trembling as it gave way from its tenuous position on the shoals and started its descent to the lower depths. Mitch didn’t have time to look back and appreciate how close it’d been.
Instead, he looked at Brody and knew he was still cutting it closer than he should.
Holding Brody tight, Mitch kicked for the surface again, ascending rapidly. Within seconds, they broke the surface together, taking large, gulping breaths.
Treading his feet through the water, Mitch looked back at where the boat had been. It was a complete loss, then. The debris on the surface wasn’t much worth salvaging.
He looked at Brody, eyes closed as his head rested against Mitch’s shoulder, turned up toward the sun.
He had salvaged the most important part, at least.
But he looked at Brody again, pale and shaking in his arms. Mitch could feel the tremors as they increased throughout Brody’s body. There was still blood in the water, more by the second.
This day wasn’t over yet.
Not by a long shot.
PART TWO
PART THREE
PART FOUR
PART FIVE
PART SIX
PART SEVEN
PART EIGHT
PART NINE
PART TEN
-o-
So, Brody wasn’t moved by sailing.
He wasn’t moved by whales.
Well, he was moved by whales, just not in the direction Mitch had hoped.
Frankly, Mitch was running out of activities. He could have tried jet skis or kayaks. Or maybe snorkeling. Diving was a possibility, but Mitch could only think that taking Brody out into the vast ocean when he was expressly uncertain about the sealife beneath probably was not the best way to prove his point.
No, Brody was relational. He always had been.
Mitch had to make this about two guys, doing guy shit.
Bonding over the most magnificent backdrop in the world.
Not magnificent.
Exhilarating.
Thrilling.
Gorgeous.
Any adjective would do that Brody didn’t automatically associate with size or danger.
That said, Mitch had to push the ocean less, and focus on the time they spent together. He and Brody got along well enough, most of the time. When the ocean wasn’t the focal point, at any rate. If Mitch could just make this a relaxing trip back, then he’d see why people come out here to let go of their landlocked issues.
Mitch could do that.
Mitch would do that.
Pulling down the main rigging, Mitch left up only a supplemental sail. Then, he asked Brody to join him in the cabin.
Seeing as they were out at sea, Brody had no choice but to comply.
“Okay,” Mitch said, acting like this was just another day. “We’re going to start making our way back now.”
Brody was more than slightly surprised -- and pleasantly so. “Really?”
“Well, it took us hours to get out this far,” Mitch said. “It’ll take us hours to get back, especially if we want to be back before dark.”
This news was vaguely disappointing to Brody. His shoulders sank. “Oh.”
“Still plenty of time left for us to have some fun,” Mitch persisted.
Brody made a face of lackluster enthusiasm. “Great.”
Mitch would not be daunted. “Come here.”
Brody glanced around himself. “Um, yeah. I’m already here.”
“No, here,” Mitch said, nodding toward the controls in front of him. “You can give me a hand.”
The skeptical expression on Brody’s face was one he’d seen often over the course of the day.
“You’ve driven boats before, right?” Mitch asked.
“Sure,” Brody said. “When I could see the land.”
“It’s not that much different,” Mitch told him. “Besides, you’ve been sailing all afternoon.”
“I’ve been pulling ropes and throwing weight around,” Brody said. “Not actually trying to get us somewhere.”
Mitch rolled his eyes, straining for patience. He’d worked with kids before; this was a lot like that. Just worse. “You won two gold medals,” he said. “I think you can manage sailing.”
“You do realize that most people don’t just happen to know how to sail,” Brody told him, but he took a step or two closer anyway.
“When they live on the beach, they do,” Mitch told him, adjusting a few dials.
“But when do you even have time?” Brody asked, scrutinizing the controls. “You don’t even have a boat.”
“I grew up on the water,” Mitch explained, ever patient.
But Brody shook his head. “You say that like it’s normal.”
“Well, it’s more common than you think,” Mitch said.
“Really?” Brody asked. “Because I’d be curious to know the numbers. No one I knew had a clue about sailing.”
Mitch gave him a tired look. “You grew up in Iowa, dipshit. That hardly counts.”
“Yeah, and most of the country lives away from the coasts,” Brody countered. “I’m not the weird one compared to the majority of the population.”
“But you’re not living in the rest of the country,” Mitch said, checking the coordinates again and referencing them against the map. “You live here, on the bay. You’re a part of Baywatch. This is something we know how to do.”
Inexplicably, Brody was less than impressed. “Whatever,” he said, the note of resignation in his voice more pronounced than ever.
Mitch was losing him. Clearly, he couldn’t talk Brody into this. He wouldn’t be able to use reason or logic or poeticism.
No, Brody was a tactile learner.
“Here,” Mitch said abruptly, stepping away from the controls.
Brody wrinkled his brow, but didn’t move.
“Unless you want to stay out here on the ocean forever,” Mitch said, making a gesture in the direction where the shore would be.
“You want me to drive?” Brody asked in that tone of his, that one that suggested he knew this was a terrible idea but wanted to make sure that everyone else acknowledged the idea’s terribleness at the same time.
“Hey, I could stay out here all night, if you want,” he said. “We’d run out of gas eventually, but you know--”
Brody stepped forward, assuming the post with more vigor now. “Okay, okay,” he said. “But you’re going to have to tell me what to do.”
Mitch did his best to suppress his grin. “It’s not that hard,” he said, stepping back up alongside Brody. “You’ve got your navigation systems and your helm, which lets you control speed and direction.”
Brody nodded along, suddenly focused on the task at hand.
Mitch pointed as he explained. “We’ll start here, with the navigation,” he said. “You’ll want to make sure you know where we are and determine the heading to get back to shore.”
“With this?” Brody asked, instinctively pointing to a few of the right instruments.
“Exactly,” Mitch said. “You use this data to input into your helm.”
“Here, right?” Brody asked, picking up the next logical bit of information faster than Mitch expected.
“Yep, and we’ll need to get the engine going--”
But Brody had already turned it on, revving it slightly until it purred.
Mitch smiled at him in approval. “There you go.”
Brody grinned back. “And we’re good to go?”
Mitch nodded back out to the sea ahead of them. “Drive on.”
This was one request that Brody happily obliged.
-o-
It was funny.
Brody could be an epic pain in the ass. He could be moody and inconsistent. He could be dumb as rocks and finnicky. He also had a tendency to make the worst possible choices at the worst possible times.
In equal turns, Brody could also be fun and upbeat. He could be intuitive and easygoing. He sometimes had the tendency to learn from his mistakes and become a better person for them.
He had a propensity to drive for success, which was only matched by his habit of simultaneously seeking failure.
All in all, he was a strange contradiction. He wasn’t like anyone else at Baywatch, a point that Mitch found only heightened by the fact that he was still crashing on Mitch’s cot in the spare room at his house. He’d taken in strays from time to time, but Brody was the only one who’d stayed. Like some homeless street cat who didn’t know how to stop being wild but really liked warm milk.
That was why it was funny. Brody drove him crazy, but he’d kind of come to rely on that craziness. As much as he’d forced Brody out here, it was obvious that Brody was enjoying himself. When Mitch wasn’t shoving the ocean down his throat, Brody seemed to like being on the boat, spending time with Mitch.
Yet, Mitch was fairly certain, if he asked, Brody would still be indifferent to the ocean.
That contradiction fit with Brody, but it was beginning to drive Mitch nuts. Mitch’s life was neat and orderly. Everything fit in its proper place and made total sense.
Brody defied all of that.
What was Mitch supposed to do with that?
Did he accept it?
Did he keep fighting?
Would Brody come to love the ocean someday when he was here long enough?
And did he actually matter?
If Brody was happy, if he was a meaningful part of the team and Mitch’s life, did it matter what he thought of the ocean?
Before Mitch could entertain that thought, Brody cleared his throat, glancing back at Mitch.
Mitch smiled politely in return, pretending that he hadn’t been studying Brody with undue concern and curiosity.
Brody, at least, seemed to have other things on his mind. “So, um,” he started, as if about to broach a conversation he wasn’t sure was appropriate. “Like, I don’t know much about weather or anything.”
Mitch was on his feet, because he looked past Brody, toward the patch of growing dark clouds south of them on the horizon.
“I’ve been watching it for a while,” Brody said, a note of unease in his voice again. “And I thought, you know, it’s south of us, so if we keep our heading, maybe we’d just run parallel or whatever.”
Mitch judged its distance; he judged the wind and the overall directionality of the waves.
“But, um,” Brody hedged. “I think it’s headed--”
“Northeast,” he said. “More north than east.”
This declaration seemed in line with what Brody had been thinking. Which only served to visibly unnerve the younger man more. “Can we outrun it or something?” Brody asked.
Mitch considered this; he’d been considering it since he first saw the patch. It looked wide, but there was no telling how deep the system went. “How long have you been tracking it?”
Brody shrugged. “Ten minutes,” he said. “Maybe fifteen.”
That meant it was moving fast. Fast was good, more often than not. Those storms passed over within a matter of minutes. Fifteen minutes, and the whole ordeal was over.
It also meant that you couldn’t very well outrun it, though. Sure, Mitch might be able to skirt it, but if they were in this thing’s path, there wasn’t anywhere to go. Their best bet -- really, their only bet -- was to prep the boat and ride through it.
“Well?” Brody asked, clearly waiting for some kind of declaration. “I swear, if you tell me it’s beautiful--”
Mitch grunted, a small bemused sound as he slid Brody out of the way at the controls. “Well, it is beautiful--”
Brody glared at him.
“But fine, it’s a little dangerous,” Mitch conceded.
“Okay,” Brody said, obviously trying to keep his wits about him. “So what are our options? We go around it? We charge at it and get through it fast?”
Mitch was already making calculations based on the data, referencing just how many miles out from shore they still were. “Well, neither of those options is very efficient,” he explained.
“Well, yeah, they both suck,” Brody said. “But I mean, I’m with you. All choices where you’re concerned are rocks or hard places.”
“What?” Mitch asked, looking up from his work.
“You’re all about shitty options,” Brody told him. “Go boating, get fired. Go through storm, try to go around it. It’s like whatever I pick with you, I need to count on being screwed.”
“Dude, boating with me is not getting screwed,” Mitch objected.
“Oh, sorry,” Brody said, holding up his hands in mock protest. “Your emotional blackmail attempt to get me to love the ocean was completely fun.”
“And your awesome attitude, which goes between indifference and outright contempt, is awesome, too.”
Brody’s mouth dropped open. “Well, maybe if you didn’t blackmail onto this boat in the first place--”
“Whatever, princess,” Mitch said with a condescending snort. “Let’s just figure this thing out and talk about your emotional incapacity later.”
Brody scowled but didn’t disagree.
There was probably room for a quip here, but Mitch looked out at the horizon. The clouds were building, darker, more ominous, closer. They could banter later.
“I need you to go on deck, start securing anything loose,” Mitch ordered, trying not to make it sound urgent.
It still sounded urgent to Brody. “Is this going to be bad? We’re going through?”
Mitch was adjusting his heading, calculating a better trajectory to cut around the storm. “You said it yourself, it’s not really a choice,” he said. “We’ll avoid what we can, but at this point, I don’t think we can avoid it.”
Brody looked somewhat grim. “Rocks and hard places.”
“Eh,” Mitch said, refusing to indulge in anything resembling worry. “We’re as well prepared as we can be.”
This assertion made Brody even more dubious than before. “Are we?”
“Oh, come on,” Mitch prodded him. “You scared? First whales and now storms?”
“I’m not scared of whales, damn it,” Brody snapped. He bobbed his head toward the looming clouds growing in the distance. “And I simply hold a proper respect for storms.”
“Uh huh,” Mitch said, letting his noncommittal tone speak for itself. “No storms in Iowa either?”
“No, we had lots of storms in Iowa, way more storms than you get here,” Brody said. “But we had the good sense to take cover during a storm. Like, we had drills on it. Lots of drills. There were sirens and warnings and the local news cut into programming to talk you through every storm so no one would be an idiot and be outside.”
“That sounds like overkill,” Mitch observed.
“No, that’s being prepared. First step: take cover.”
“Well, corn boy,” Mitch said lightly. “I don’t see any cover out here.”
“Exactly,” Brody said. “Another reason that the ocean is completely overrated.”
Mitch gave Brody his best dead expression. The conversation had come full circle at least. They were consistent, the two of them. At least they had that going for them. “Shut up and secure the deck,” he said. “You have the emotional capacity of a damn coconut. Your opinion doesn’t count.”
Brody held up his hands, signaling his indifference to the insult as he made his way outside to get to work.
Mitch eyed the storm while he left.
They were totally fine, he concluded as he adjusted his heading and increased his speed.
Totally, totally fine.
-o-
With some creative navigating, Mitch got them ahead of the storm in most respects, but it was pitching in their direction at an increasing speed. Brody had just managed to secure the items on deck when the first when the first peels of thunder shook the cabin. When the lightning flashed outside, Mitch yelled for him to come in.
Brody wasted no time in complying, ducking inside as another crack of lightning split the sky and the wind picked up its pace. The clouds were nearly overhead now, and Mitch could feel the boat pitching against the waves as they started to thrash against the sides.
“Shit,” Brody cursed as another gale blew up, strong than before. Brody had to brace himself against one of the consoles. “I thought you said we’d avoid the worst of it.”
“We have,” Mitch told him, dogged piloting the boat onward. “But I also told you we’d hit some of it.”
The thunder was deafening now as it sounded overhead, and a dramatic streak of lightning touched down in the water not far away as a slow thunk of rain started on the roof.
Brody paled, looking out the windows with increasing trepidation. “You’ve got it under control, right?”
For as much as Brody was a total smart ass, there was something strangely vulnerable about that question. Like he was some little kid, looking to Mitch to handle all the problems of the world. It was a stupidly naive question. Mitch counted himself as oceanic, but he wasn’t some demigod or something. In the end, he was still some dude with good instincts in a boat against the sea. If the sea wanted to, it would win this round.
That was no answer for Brody, especially not an answer that Mitch could give while trying to convince Brody that the ocean was the best thing ever.
Instead, he anchored his feet to the ground, striving for calm as the waves loomed higher and the sky was consumed with low lying black clouds. “Sure,” he said easily.
Brody was not so easily taken with this lie, however. “Sure?”
“I’m doing everything I can do,” Mitch said.
“But you said earlier we didn’t have a choice,” Brody reminded him, going even paler as another bolt of lightning hit right off the bow and the thunder was so loud that it rumbled in their chests.
“Some things don’t require choices,” Mitch said, trying to steer them over a large wave that was cresting in their path. The boat dipped ominously, and Brody stumbled forward, nearly losing his footing.
He looked up at Mitch, his pretense of self control gone. “Well, you better have it together, man,” he said. “Because I’m trusting you to get me through this, okay?”
Mitch grimaced, unable to spare a glance at Brody. He made it like he was too busy trying to navigate, but really, how could you look at someone after that? How did someone who pissed you off all the time go and make you feel guilty with one damn sentence.
Of all the times for Brody to listen to him.
Mitch’s fingers were tight on the controls, as he tried to predict the next gust of wind that threatened to topple them. Brody was white-knuckled, right by his side.
Of all the damn times.
-o-
Despite the fact that Brody looked ready to piss his pants, the storm went pretty much how Mitch expected it to. It was rough, loud, and jostling, but with a little persistence and a lot of intuition, Mitch was able to keep them afloat, steering them as efficiently as he could out of the storm’s center to what he hoped was clear skies on the other sides. It was about five minutes of tense agony, five minutes of controlled fear, and Mitch started to see a sliver of blue at the edge of the horizon.
Brody seemed to experience this differently. He experience ten minutes of unrelenting panic, barely contained by the vestiges of his pride. Mitch had given him vague orders to close the windows and lock the doors, before finally just telling him to put on a lifejacket and sit quietly until things were over.
Clad in his life jacket, Brody forced one onto Mitch before sitting down, tucking himself in anxiously on himself. Mitch humored him by throwing his jacket on before pulling them over the top of another high wave. The end of the storm was more tumultuous than its center, and Mitch knew that these final swells would be the most perilous yet.
Mitch could handle the ocean, though.
He could.
He would.
From his seat nearby, Brody shook his head, yelling at Mitch over the raging of the storm. “You know, this isn’t going to convince that the ocean’s amazing!”
Brody wasn’t won over by fishing, sailing or navigating. At least this way he might have a deeper respect for the ocean’s power.
If Mitch didn’t kill him first.
“Shut up!” Mitch yelled back. “And grab onto something. This last bit will be bumpy!”
“And what has the rest been!?” Brody called back, but he still reached out to steady himself.
Mitch managed a grin, even as he carefully maneuvered the boat a little farther to the side. “Just another day at the beach.”
-o-
By all accounts, this hadn’t been the day Mitch had planned. While most of this was Brody’s fault because he was an ignorant idiot, Mitch would blame some of it on the ocean itself.
Brody would be insufferable after this.
Well, more insufferable.
Besides, if Brody had just been a normal person and liked the ocean, none of this would have ever happened.
“Dude, what is that?” Brody called.
Mitch looked at him, surprised to see him pointing out the window in the opposite direction of the storm clouds. He probably hadn’t grasped how close they were to be on the other side; he probably didn’t understand that this ordeal was almost over.
Brody never did understand shit.
But, then, Mitch looked.
Yes, he saw the growing sliver of blue sky.
Which was beautifully showcasing a land mass.
Mitch cursed.
He’d been so busy watching the storm that he’d neglected to pay attention to the sea itself.
“Are we back already?” Brody asked, getting to his feet, as if somewhat hopeful.
Mitch looked at his gauges, but he didn’t have time to cross reference the map. This island was big enough; it was probably charted. But it wasn’t so big that it was probably developed for anything, not that Mitch would know. He’d charted their course, but he’d veered off badly for the sake of the storm. If this island had any shoals, Mitch would already be in them.
“I thought we were still miles out,” Brody said, sounding more confused by the second.
He didn’t get it.
How the hell did he not get it?
How the hell did Mitch not see this coming?
The sea was one thing; the land was another. Where the two met? It was always chaos.
As quickly as he could without tipping them, Mitch directed the boat back out, toward the storm. He needed to get some clearance; if they hit a shoal--
“Wait, we’re going back?” Brody asked.
“Sure,” Mitch said, grimacing as the boat lurched in the throes of wind.
“But why?” Brody asked.
“Remember that thing about rocks and hard places?” Mitch asked.
“Yes?” Brody said, still not sure why it mattered.
“This time it’s rocks and sea,” he said, flinching as the boat scraped against something.
Brody’s eyes widened as he felt the shimmy and heard the creak.
Mitch bit down hard, concentrating with all he had. “This time, I think you definitely want the sea.”
They were buffeted by another large wave, and Brody nearly fell over again. “What the hell?”
The boat screeched again, and Mitch felt the resistance pulling on the controls. He shook his head; he was navigating blind here, and with the storm’s activity, it was impossible to stay still long enough to get any kind of bearing.
Brody was clinging to a console, trying to keep his feet. “But I thought it was almost over,” he said. “Aren’t we almost out of it?”
“We are,” Mitch said, making his best guess through another set of waves.
The next gust of wind had them jarring hard. “But what the hell is happening!”
“You wanted land, right?” Mitch asked harshly, biting back a curse as he felt the force of the wind try to topple their mast now.
Brody’s look of incredulity was about as epic as the storm outside.
They turned unexpected in a gale, and the boat gave a long, horrible shudder.
“Well,” Mitch said grimly. “I’m pretty sure we got land.”
-o-
Mitch gave it all he had.
And for Mitch, that was always a lot.
Usually it was enough.
This trip was not about usuallys, though.
This was all Brody’s fault.
This was all Brody’s fault.
-o-
In the end, it was one wave too many. One gust of wind too hard. One rock too sharp that Mitch couldn’t see.
But he felt it. He felt it as it ripped a hole in the side of the boat, and he almost heard the gush of water as it poured into the lower deck. This threw them badly off balance; worse, it made navigation close to impossible.
Mitch had no way to correct their heading, no way to right their mast. One gust, one wave -- and that was it.
Mitch knew what was coming next.
He looked to Brody, who was still staring at him with wide-eyed terror. He didn’t have a clue what came next.
Well, Mitch thought as he let go of the controls. At least Brody already hated the ocean.
“Brace yourself!” Mitch yelled out.
Brody looked at him, horrified. “What? Why?”
Mitch took the time to buckle his life jacket before grabbing hard onto the console with both hands. “Because we’re going over!”
“What?” Brody screamed back, fumbling back as he tried to grab onto something. “We’re going over?”
“Probably!” Mitch confirmed, anticipating the next gust of breeze as it toppled them dangerously against the rocks.
“Like into the ocean?” Brody clarified. It seemed unnecessary, but Brody seemed a little past reason at this point.
“And the rocks,” Mitch told him. “That’s our real problem right now!”
Brody did not seem to care about this point. They lurched, the mast creaking dangerous as it wavered at an angle, tilting the whole boat with it. “Are we going to die?”
“You’ve swam in the ocean before,” Mitch reminded him, even as the boat started to list to the side even more. “We’ll be fine.”
They were clearly at an angle now, and precipitously so. “Are you sure about that?”
Mitch tried to shrug, but he was too busy trying not to lose his footing and slide to the side. “Mostly!”
Brody looked like he could be crying now. “Mostly?”
There wasn’t any point to this. It didn’t change anything. The choice was out of their hands now. There were no rocks, no hard places.
Just the whole damn ocean.
As it prepared to swallow them whole.
“Just hold on!” Mitch yelled, his last bit of advice.
He hoped it was enough as the wave came over them, crashing over the deck and sending them toppling over, the boat crashing to the side and upside down. They hit hard, the sound of boards splintering and thunder peeling as Mitch lost his grip and fell hard. He hit the window, the force of his weight shattering it. He managed one last breath as he saw Brody still holding on, face contorted as Mitch slipped through the window into the dark waves below.
-o-
The ocean took him in, but Mitch wasn’t afraid. He knew the ocean; he understood the ocean. He knew its ebb and flow; and he could ride the waves and the riptides all the way back home.
This wasn’t just him, however.
This was Brody, too.
Mitch stiffened reflexively, pulling against the current.
He had to go back.
As he swam hard, he was pulled back harder. He should have known better; you can’t fight the ocean and win.
Mitch knew that.
Yet it would be his mistake this time.
There was no time to dwell on it, though. The ocean threw him unrelentingly back, and he crashed hard into something.
And then everything went black.
-o-
Mitch was oceanic.
Now, this was the kind of shit one said when they were jacked up on urchin venom and facing down a mad woman who wanted to kill them and take over the bay. It was the fantastical verbiage that one might associate with a force of nature or a demigod or whatever. If anyone else said it, it would sound ridiculous.
But when Mitch said it, it was just true.
Mitch was oceanic.
He opened his eyes.
He wasn’t oceanic.
He was just in the ocean.
Literally.
He blinked a few times, thinking about this fact and trying to make sense of it. The sky ahead was blue and clear; the ocean choppy and cool.
Huh, a perfect day.
Mitch’s face screwed up, as he tried to figure out what was wrong with that thought.
He bobbed in the waves, the life jacket keeping him up.
A life jacket?
Mitch moved with the waves again, this time banging into a piece of wood. He craned his neck to look at it. It was debris.
From the boat.
That he’d just crashed.
In the storm.
These realizations cascaded over him rapidly, settling on the most horrifying conclusion of all.
“Brody!” he yelled, turning over to start swimming. He had to pause, wiping a streak of blood from his eye from a wound somewhere on the top of his head. It throbbed, but it didn’t slow him down any more than that. He started again, spitting out salt water as he took strong, even strokes. “Brody!”
As he swam, Mitch took stock of his situation. The boat wasn’t too far away, but it was a bit of a haul. Clearly, he had drifted while unconscious. The boat, which had been ripped open on the rocks, was bobbing, still caught on the shoals as it took on water. It was probably a matter of time before it filled with water and wrested its way free, down to the deeper depths nearby.
Given his distance from the boat and the choppiness of the seas, he could guess that not too much time had passed. That coincided with the head injury -- probably not serious -- and the position of the clouds as they moved in the other direction. Five minutes. Tops.
That wasn’t a terribly long time, but in the ocean?
Shit, it took way less than five minutes for someone to drown. Even if they were conscious. If they were unconscious and submerged...well then five minutes meant it was game over.
These thoughts passed quickly, and Mitch absolutely refused to consider them more deeply. It was not an outcome he accepted.
Instead, he swam harder. “Brody!” he shouted, letting his voice bellow across the waves. “Answer me!”
His muscles were tight by the time he reached the boat, and he tread water, looking for any sign of Brody among the debris. Swimming farther, he checked on all sides, but there was no sign of Brody anywhere.
“Brody!” he called again, refusing to panic. The last he’d seen Brody, he’d been inside the boat. There was a chance he was still inside.
And since the boat was still technically afloat, there was still a chance that Brody was alive in there.
Thus determined, Mitch set about assessing his best way in. The boat was partially submerged, mostly tipped over. One side listed higher than the other, but the left entrance was fully submerged. He had to swim his way around again, finding the right one only halfway beneath the water.
“Brody!” he said, holding onto the door frame to draw himself closer. “Talk to me, man!”
Then, remarkably, there was a muted but definitive reply. “Mitch?”
“Brody!”
This time, there was audible relief. “Mitch!”
Mitch only thought momentarily about the stability of the structure -- on the rocks, filling with water, it was a matter of time before the whole thing went down.
But, Mitch reflected without further pretense, he couldn’t very well let it go down with Brody inside. Which meant Mitch had to go get him out.
The boat creaked, groaning ominously.
Mitch girded himself. He had to get Brody out quickly.
Mitch ducked through the entrace, bobbing up on the other side of the cabin. Upside down, the cabin was hard to recognize, and the loose items were floating askance with some of the debris from the ship. The cabin was more than half filled with water, and the windows on the far side were fully submerged at this point.
All of that was besides the point. The point was, where the hell was Brody?
“Mitch!”
Mitch turned, getting his bearings in the cabin in its current state. He was slightly turned around, but Brody’s voice served to anchor him a bit. “Brody!”
The other man was there, tucked into one of the corners that was elevated above the waterline. It seemed like an odd choice to Mitch, but Brody had been moderately close to panic. If less than five minutes had passed, it was likely he was still in shock and holding on for dear life as Mitch had instructed before they went over.
Keeping his own head above water, Mitch swam across to him, batting aside the debris. “Come on,” he said. “We need to get out of here.”
Brody blinked a few times, looking confused. He seems to be struggling to make sense of the situation. “I -- yeah,” he said, brow furrowed. “I don’t -- like, I’m not sure I can move?”
He said it like a question, like he wasn’t even sure. Brody was more panicked than Mitch had assumed.
Fortunately, Mitch was a trained lifeguard. He dealt with panicking people all the time. He crossed the rest of the distance until he was treading water right in front of Brody. “Sure you can,” he said. “We’ll do it together.”
Up close, Brody looked more disoriented than before. The color, which had drained from his face during the storm, had not recovered. In fact, he looked strangely pallid, and he was wracked with a vague tremble as his breathing hitched with uncertainty. “I think I’m stuck,” he said, like he wasn’t totally sure how or why that had happened.
Mitch frowned a little, assessing Brody’s position a little closer. He was wedged somewhat firmly into a tight corner, where the console had been broken away from the wall in the force of the crash. He was still in his life jacket, but Mitch could tell that it wasn’t the jacket that was keeping him afloat. Instead, his position alone was enough to keep him above water.
“You just need to push off,” Mitch said. “We have to get out of here.”
Brody appeared to try, but the slightest movement made his face twist up in obvious pain as he bit back a cry. He shook his head. “I can’t get out.”
Mitch felt his patience start to flag. Victims were one thing, but Brody was better than this under pressure. Mitch knew it. “Come on, man,” Mitch said. “Are you sure you can’t move?”
Brody’s head snapped up, still with lines of pain around his features. “Do you think I like staying here? I’m in a sinking boat. In the ocean,” he said, voice wavering on the words. “But I don’t think I can move.”
“Alright, alright,” Mitch said quickly, because his goal was to keep Brody calm, not to rile him up. “Then tell me what’s wrong. Why can’t you move?”
Brody thought about this question quite seriously. He looked embarrassed when he spoke. “I haven’t toally figured it out yet.”
Mitch tried to ignore the sound of the boat as it shimmied around them. “What do you mean?”
Now, Brody just looked apologetic. “I kind of keep passing out,” he admitted. “A lot.”
That certainly wasn’t the news Mitch had wanted to hear. He looked at Brody more studiously, understanding the pallid complexion in a different light now. He leaned himself down, trying to get a good look into Brody’s eyes, which were somewhat clouded. “How long has it been?”
Brody smiled, a little pathetic looking. “I was going to ask you.”
This was getting them nowhere. They could talk about it more -- outside. When they were safe. “Okay,” he said, reaching out for Brody. “Let’s get you out of here.”
He grabbed Brody by the wrist, starting to guide him out of his crevice. He stopped quickly, though, at the sound of Brody’s pained yelp.
“What?” he said, pausing long enough to take stock of the situation again.
Brody’s breathing had quickened again. When his eyes met Mitch’s, they were glassy with pain. “I think I’m hurt.”
That was a strangely understated commented, given their current predicament. Mitch was hurt, too. You couldn’t be flung from a sinking ship during a storm without getting banged around. “Can you be more specific?”
Brody blinked a few times, as if that question caught him a little off guard. He swallowed with a wince. “I don’t think it’s that bad, maybe,” he said, though he sounding like he was trying to convince himself of that. “Maybe my ribs, I think.”
Mitch frowned, not sure if he had time for this. But broken ribs could cause all sorts of problems. He reached out, tentatively running his hands along the life jacket, looking for any sign of a problem. The life jacket was intact, however. “Did you get tossed around when it flipped?”
That question, of course, was obvious, but Brody’s assessment of it might still help him figure out what was wrong. “Yeah, a lot,” Brody said. “I hit a few things pretty hard.”
Blunt force trauma, probably. Bruised or broken ribs would be impossible to see in these conditions, and Mitch wasn’t ready to take off the life jacket until they were back on land. “We’ll check when we get you out of here,” he said shortly, moving in closer to better brace Brody for their next effort.
Brody seemed to accept this, at least until they tried moving again. Mitch gave a firm pull, and this time, Brody cried out in agony.
“What?” Mitch asked, even more confused than before. “What’s wrong?”
Brody was crying now, even as he tried he round up his emotions. “I really think I’m hurt, man.”
Blowing out a tense breath, Mitch looked again. The jacket was intact; there was no sign of obvious head wound. Arms were clear. “But -- where--”
Mitch stopped when his hands got to Brody’s abdomen.
Just like that, he answered his own question.
There, sticking through the side of Brody’s abdomen, was a piece of something sharp and metal.
This time, it was Brody who asked, “What?”
Mitch said nothing, running his fingers along the length of the metal, tracking it through Brody’s front and then out through the back where it then connected to the wall where the broken console had been sheared away. It was relatively thin but hard. Worse, the metal was still attached to the boat.
And Brody was attached to it.
“What?” Brody asked again, voice hitching precariously. “It’s like, what, a scratch or something?”
Mitch was still trying to figure out where the rod was jammed through -- if it had hit the intestines or the stomach, Brody was as good as dead already -- but if it was to the side, away from the vital organs--
Brody looked down, following the trajectory of Mitch’s hands before he could stop him.
“Oh shit!”
Mitch reached out, bracing Brody immediately. “Hold still!”
But Brody was a little past reason at this point. “Is that -- shit, is it going through my side?” he asked, well on his way to panicking now.
“It looks that way, yes,” Mitch hissed, still trying to ensure that the metal was low enough that it hadn’t hit Brody’s lungs. Compromised breathing would be another death sentence this far out.
Brody swore, crying again. “Shit,” he said between halting breaths. “Oh, shit. I’m dead, aren’t I?” He looked at Mitch with wide, terrified eyes. “How am I not dead?”
Around them, the boat keened again, listing even more to the side as the water continued to inch higher. Mitch was running out of time.
Brody looked about two second away from completely losing his shit.
Mitch was really out of time.
He fabricated calm, keeping his hands steady on Brody’s shoulders. “You’re not dead because you’re still impaled.”
Brody’s face contorted into a barely controlled sob.
Mitch continued. “And because I don’t think it hit anything vital. If you’re going to get impaled, this isn’t a bad way to do it.”
Brody shook his head, the incredulity competing with his panic. “It’s my body, man,” he said. “Isn’t it all kind of vital?”
“Sure,” Mitch said. “But if you’d perforated your intestines or knicked your heart, you’d probably be dead already.”
“Seriously?” Brody demanded, anger cutting through his other emotions. “Is that your version of a pep talk right now?”
It was; moreover, it had worked. Brody was pissed enough to not completely lose control of himself. That was all Mitch needed.
The boat creaked, another window cracking behind them.
Well, Mitch needed more time, too.
“Look,” he said, trying to bring both of their focus back around to the task at hand. “It doesn’t matter a lot right now.”
“How can it not matter?!”
“We have to get you out of here,” Mitch said flatly.
“I’m impaled on a piece of metal!” Brody hissed.
“Yeah, and the boat’s sinking,” Mitch countered, just as vehement.
Brody’s confusion would have been comical in another context. “But...boats float.”
“When they’re not totaled, sure,” Mitch said. “But we flipped this one and ran it onto the rocks. This one is going down, and if we don’t hurry, it’s going to take you with it.”
This seemed to make some sense to Brody. He nodded. “Okay.”
Brody hadn’t figured out the next detail, unfortunately.
Mitch sighed. “The rod is attached to the boat still.”
Brody nodded, but he still didn’t get it.
“I have to take the rod out,” Mitch said.
Brody’s reaction was about as bombastic as Mitch expected it to be. “Are you crazy!”
“Well, it’s not like you were super happy about having it through your side two seconds ago,” Mitch argued, losing just a touch of his patience.
“But won’t taking it out kill me?” Brody asked.
It was not an unreasonable question, in all honesty.
But there wasn’t time for compassion or reason.
The water was filling faster now, rising imperceptibly higher. “Not if we’re smart about it.”
“How can you be smart about pulling shit that’s been driven through your body?” Brody asked angrily.
“We do it fast, we get you out of here,” Mitch said. “We just have to control the bleeding and you’ll be fine.”
Brody was already shaking his head. “I think we should leave it in. Less bleeding.”
“Sure, but if you leave it in, you’re going down with this boat,” Mitch said plaintively. “Remember, that metal is attached to the boat and we do not have time to break it off, even if I did have the tools.”
Cursing again, Brody looked completely forlorn for a moment. “So I drown or I bleed to death?”
The way Brody’s voice wavered took the contempt out of Mitch’s voice. He smiled sympathetically. “Back to that rock and a hard place,” he said. “But I promise you, you let me pull it out, you have a fighting chance.”
Brody’s ire had faded, too. Now, he just looked scared. “Not totally seeing the chance.”
“I’m right here, man,” Mitch vowed. “I’m your chance.”
Mitch’s fortitude only made Brody seem more pathetic. He had no argument; he had no willpower left. His surrender was inevitable, but he offered it anyway. “You’re going to get me out?”
“I’m going to get you out,” Mitch promised. “And we’re getting to shore. And we’re getting back home to Baywatch.”
Miserably, Brody looked away.
Mitch tried to be patient as the boat cracked violently, sending shudders through the water. “Come on,” he said. “We’re running out of time.”
Brody nodded once, and then again as he tried to find something resembling resolve. Even so, his voice sounded younger than normal when he spoke. “Is it going to hurt?”
People asked shit like that when they were scared. People asked shit like that when they thought they were going to die.
Mitch had always understood it.
But he understood it a little better now.
Because he knew Brody.
Because Brody was here on account of him.
Because Brody was his responsibility.
And because Brody was going to die if Mitch didn’t say the right thing right now.
“Well, probably a little,” Mitch conceded, as if it were almost unimportant. “But drowning’s way worse.”
Brody let out a short, strained chuckled. “Yeah, I’ve done that, too, remember?”
“There you go,” Mitch said. “This one’s going to be a piece of cake!”
With another strangled laugh, Brody shook his head. “I hate you.”
Mitch nodded, patting him on the shoulder understandingly. “I know,” he said. “But you’ll be fine.”
Brody’s smile faded as he struggled to maintain his composure. The boat was careening to the side dramatically now; they were down to minutes. “You promise?”
“Sure,” Mitch said, moving himself into position, ignoring the water as it lapped against his face. “Now, one--”
Brody inhaled deeply, visibly steeling himself. Mitch put one hand on Brody’s torso, using the other to provide tension against the wall.
“Two--”
The boat moaned, a long grating noise simmering in the water. Mitch tightened his grip, enhancing his own resolve.
“Three!”
Mitch pulled, using his supreme upper body control to both stabilize Brody and keep him on a straight trajectory. If the conditions had been better, he would have gauged the angle of the metal more closely, but there was no way to do that under the water. Not when the boat was actively sinking around them.
There was some resistance at first as the metal caught along the edges of the wound. Mitch didn’t let that stop him. If he was going to do this, he was going to do it now, quickly, with one clean, movement. That was best for Brody.
It was best for him, too.
He could talk big, but he knew what he was doing. He knew that he was literally pulling metal out of someone he counted as a friend, someone he felt responsible for. Necessary as this was, thinking too hard about the metal slithering against Brody’s insides threatened to make him squeamish, too.
One strong movement, and it was over.
Brody cried out, an inarticulate howl of pain that seemed to be ripped from somewhere deep inside him. His entire body was taut, head pressed into Mitch’s shoulder as Mitch held him fast, feeling the rapid throb of his heartbeat through the water. There wasn’t much time, but Mitch allowed him a minute.
Head ducked, Brody was choking on his sobs, his entire body trembling. He gasped, trying to take a breath. When he lifted his head, he was even shakier. Looking at Mitch, he swore. “Dude. That hurt. A lot.”
Mitch gave a small shrug. “Of course it did.”
Brody exhaled heavily, catching on another sob. “Are you shitting me? You lied to my face.”
“Would you have rather have known that it was going to hurt like hell?” Mitch asked.
Brody let his head drop again, back against Mitch’s shoulders. “I thought you didn’t say things you didn’t mean.”
“When I have to, I will,” Mitch told him, glancing anxiously around. The cabin was tilted even more to one side. The only corner still afloat was theirs. This was both good and bad, Mitch knew. Good because they still had air. Bad because they were running even shorter on time.
“So when you say I’m not going to die?” Brody asked.
Mitch looked back at him, a bit surprised. Brody’s blue eyes were big and credulous, and Mitch found himself shaken. It wasn’t the equivocation he was most comfortable with at the moment. When he spoke, he didn’t want to think it was a lie. “That one I meant,” he said, hoping it for his sake and Brody’s. “But first we have to get out of here.”
Brody groaned but he seemed to buck himself up. “Whatever, man,” he said. “I’ve followed you this far.”
Mitch grunted, rotating Brody so his back was against his own. “What’s a little farther, right?”
-o-
A little farther was a relative distinction. Mitch could swim that distance easy. So could Brody, most of the time. But when they were in a sinking boat and Brody was actively bleeding? It seemed a whole lot farther.
The boat was creaking nearly continuously now as the water levels rose dangerously. Mitch bobbed through the debris, which was starting to collect even more in the closing open pocket, and he did his best to help Brody keep his head above water. Brody, for his part, was trying, but Mitch knew better than to count on much.
He kept an arm threaded around Brody’s chest, keeping him secure against himself. Using a deft side stroke, Mitch was able to cut through the water efficiently at least, tugging Brody along with him. In his grip, Brody’s body was taut with pain, and while he showed no signs of fighting Mitch, he also hadn’t moved to help their escape.
After all, now that Brody was free from the metal, they were still facing the other problem. Brody was bleeding.
A lot.
The closer they got to the exit, the more blood effused into the water. Brody was too focused on keeping his head above water -- face screwed up in pain -- so at least he didn’t see it. Still, it was a clear indication: Brody wasn’t going to be any help now.
That was just as well, Mitch told himself, crossing the last of the distance toward the exit. This had been Mitch’s idea. It had been his plan. He had to see it through to completion, one way or another.
Besides, Mitch was the veteran lifeguard here. This was the sort of shit he did for a living.
This was just another day in the office.
Even if he was decidedly pretty far from the office right now.
The boat lurched, and Mitch avoided the shifting debris as best he could. The water had nearly filled the cabin now, and the boat made a terrible noise. Death throes. Mitch knew their time was running out. They’d had minutes before. It was down to a matter of seconds.
Worse, Mitch realized as they approached, the exit was now submerged.
He glanced at Brody, who was blinking blearily in his arms. The short swim had nearly depleted what little energy he’d had left. With a jostle, Mitch tried to bring his attention around to the issue at hand. “You up for a dive?”
It was a moot point; they had to swim. But he preferred to go under while Brody was aware and conscious. The ocean was great for many things. It was not great for CPR, however. He needed to not let Brody drown when they were this close to escape.
Brody made great efforts to focus. “Do I have a choice?”
The words were weak, pained and honest. But they were coherent. That was all Mitch needed. “We’ve talked about that,” Mitch said. “So just leave the diving to me. I want you to focus on holding your breath. The last thing you need is water in your lungs.”
“What?”
“Deep breath,” Mitch coached.
Brody’s brow creased as he shook his head. “I need a minute.”
“Ready?”
“Shit.”
“Go.”
There was no further warning. Mitch dove, taking Brody with him, still tight against his chest. Brody flailed momentarily under the surface, but he seemed to get his wits about him as Mitch navigated them down, finding the open door frame under the surface. It was awkward work -- debris had started to collect in the area, and Mitch had to push some of it out of the way, mindful of Brody in his arms, still holding his breath with a slightly frantic look in his eye, like his panic was just barely held at bay.
Behind them, Mitch could see the trail of blood marking their escape in the water.
Mitch had nearly braced himself on the door frame, ready to kick up when the boat shifted downward again, this time even more dramatically. Mitch barely had time to adjust, sidling them through the opening as the cabin slipped from his grip. Using his strong swimming skills, Mitch compensated quickly, dragging Brody clear of the sinking vessel.
In his grip, Brody’s body started to seize as the panic took hold.
Mitch was running out of time in more ways than one.
Kicking hard, Mitch cleared the boat, moving past the debris field. Behind him, he could feel the boat tremble in the water, and soon the entire ocean was trembling as it gave way from its tenuous position on the shoals and started its descent to the lower depths. Mitch didn’t have time to look back and appreciate how close it’d been.
Instead, he looked at Brody and knew he was still cutting it closer than he should.
Holding Brody tight, Mitch kicked for the surface again, ascending rapidly. Within seconds, they broke the surface together, taking large, gulping breaths.
Treading his feet through the water, Mitch looked back at where the boat had been. It was a complete loss, then. The debris on the surface wasn’t much worth salvaging.
He looked at Brody, eyes closed as his head rested against Mitch’s shoulder, turned up toward the sun.
He had salvaged the most important part, at least.
But he looked at Brody again, pale and shaking in his arms. Mitch could feel the tremors as they increased throughout Brody’s body. There was still blood in the water, more by the second.
This day wasn’t over yet.
Not by a long shot.