Baywatch fic: On the Road Again (1/3)

[faye_dartmouth]

Title: On the Road Again

Rating: M

Disclaimer: I got nothing.

A/N: A fill for substance abuse on hc_bingo. The next installment of the Gold Medal Verse. Unbeta’ed as per usual

Warnings: For substance abuse

Summary: All the progress Brody had made over the last year, it had crumbled without accountability. It was a sign of character weakness, sure. But it was also just a sign that Brody was still the dumb ass kid with abandonment issues who’d been set out on his own far, far too early.

PART ONE
PART TWO
PART THREE



-o-

It had been nearly six months since Brody announced his intention to return to competitive racing. Six months since Brody’s schedule at Baywatch had become erratic in order to accomodate a new, rigorous training schedule. Six months since he’d started to spend more time on the road in order to start competing.

Six months exactly.

Because of course Mitch was keeping track.

He was Mitch, that was what he did.

And this was Brody.

It was possible -- just a little possible -- that Mitch missed Brody.

A lot more than he liked to let on.

-o-

Brody had told Mitch -- told them all, really, but Mitch more than the rest -- just how time consuming competitive racing would be. Mitch had assured him that it would be fine, that they would work it out. He had simply wanted to make sure that Brody knew it would be okay.

He had been successful on that front.

However, he had failed to consider the flip side. It wasn’t just that Brody was the one that was going to be leaving Baywatch behind sometimes.

It was that Baywatch was going to be left behind.

It was that Mitch wasn’t going to have his workout partner, roommate and teammate.

It was that Mitch wasn’t going to have unlimited access to his best friend.

That wasn’t a problem, not really. Mitch in no way begrudged Brody this opportunity, and he fully supported Brody professionally and personally.

It was just, after six months, he was starting to miss Brody.

Not like a weird amount or anything. Mitch still had plenty to do; he had a life, after all. It wasn’t like Brody was the center of everything he did.

All the same, he missed teaching Brody to cook. He missed having someone to run with every morning. And he even missed picking up Brody’s clothes off the floor from time to time. The house was so quiet; so empty. It was hard to believe that two years ago, he’d been living alone happily. Now, his house just seemed strangely vacant.

To compensate, he followed Brody’s travels and training as much as he could remotely. He texted Brody on a nightly basis to check in, and he fastidiously checked up on his latest times and scores when he was in competition. It wasn’t strange, he told himself, that he knew the name of every city Brody went to and that he knew Brody’s best times during every race. That was just what you did for friends.

It was what you did for family.

Most of the races were important, but only on the swimming circuit. That meant they received limited press coverage, and that made it hard to watch them. Still, Mitch was sometimes able to find a livestream online, and other times he tapped into a remote radio broadcast. Anything to keep in touch with Brody’s venture.

After all, it was Brody who was in the pool, but it sort of felt like it was his venture, too. He was the one who had talked Brody into it. He was the one who had forced Brody to face that fear, pushing him until he was ready to jump back in. He had given Brody the support he needed to pursue the dream once again.

So, yeah, Mitch felt invested.

And it totally wasn’t weird at all.

-o-

If it was a little weird, at least no one was calling him on it.

In fact, they all seemed as eager to play up this dream as he did. It was a habit they’d developed, whenever one of Brody’s races were televised, they would gather together for a party. These smaller venues didn’t exactly have huge cheering sections, but Mitch would text Brody a picture of the team before the race, just to make sure he knew he wasn’t alone.

This race was no exception.

Brody was across the country for this one, competing in Florida. This race had some of the bigger names, and the meet was one of the precursors to the national competition slated in a few weeks. In the swimming world, Brody’s comeback was big news. As long as the six months had felt to Mitch, they had been a short turnaround for Brody to get back on the track to the Olympics.

People had started to notice.

Well, people in the swimming world. He got a few mentions in lesser ESPN coverage, and Sports Illustrated had run a short article about his comeback. That mattered to Brody, Mitch knew.

But his team being behind him mattered more.

So Mitch was relentless.

He cooked a full meal with appetizers and stocked Brody’s favorite brand of beer, and he made sure that the had seats for all of them in front of the TV when meet started. They laughed and chatted while other competitors raced, but when Brody’s turn came, Mitch shushed them all.

“Okay, this is him, this is him,” he said, putting his hands out as if to force the noise level to a minimum.

The chatter stopped instantly. Ronnie stopped chewing, and CJ took his hand. Stephanie put her drink down to sit up a little straighter. Summer was already perched on the edge of her seat.

Mitch all but sat on the floor in front of the TV. “There he is, there he is,” he said, and if he sounded a little too much like an eager parent, then at least no one was going to call him on it here. They were all transfixed, watching as Brody made his way across the pool deck.

The past six months had only honed Brody’s physique. He’d come to Baywatch ripped, but his training had focused on his arms and shoulders, and they were notably defined. Of course, it was easy to see all this given the fact that he was wearing a Speedo. For all that people commented on how skimpy Baywatch’s uniforms could be, Brody’s barely there swimsuit left very little to the imagination.

Walking to the edge of the pool, Brody adjusted his swim cap, smoothing his loose hair underneath before putting on his goggles.

Mitch sat forward a little more in anticipation, hold his breath as Brody mounted the starting block. He watched as Brody’s focus zeroed in on the water.

As Mitch’s own focus zeroed in on Brody himself.

Miles apart, they were together in this.

Mitch knew that.

And he’d worked his ass off to make sure that Brody knew it, too.

He had his doubts sometimes, but as the starting buzzer went off, he watched as Brody dove into the water. Purposeful strokes quickly set him apart, and at the turn, he had a full body length lead. The lead lengthened in the next stretch, and Mitch nodded emphatically as Brody made another strong turn and then another. In the final leg, when the others pulled out their best, Brody laid it all on the line.

He was stronger, faster, better.

When he touched the wall, no one else was close. He watched as Brody looked up at his time and smiled right at Mitch across the country.

Yeah, Mitch grinned while the others clapped and cheered. He was pretty sure that Brody knew they were in this together, too.

Mitch was still watching while Brody got out of the pool, dripping wet and exhausted. That was when Mitch saw it. The smallest thing; the thing that seemed even more significant than a first place finish and a meet best on the leader board.

Because as Brody exited the pool, Mitch watched as his smile fell. Then, as he walked past the cheering throng, Brody looked down with his head ducked. A small movement, but one that was well rehearsed. And well recognized. Mitch knew it better than he wanted to.

Sitting there, poised in front of the TV, Mitch’s heart thudded in his chest.

It was exhaustion, was all. Brody had just swam his heart out. He was just tired.

All the same, Mitch’s smile fell, too.

-o-

“I’m pretty sure he’s not even human,” Ronnie said as they ate some dessert after the race. “I mean, humans don’t swim like that.”

CJ laughed, popping another bite of brownie into her mouth. Yes, Mitch had made brownies. From scratch. He had a lot of free time on his hands these days. “He’s just been training really hard,” she said, smiling fondly at Ronnie. “And you’re still jealous by his body.”

“Um, yeah,” Ronnie said, as if that was obvious. It was obvious. “Because I think he has more muscles now than when he left. How can he have more muscles?”

“Because his workout regimen is crazy, you have no idea,” Summer said. “He told me about some of it. From what I can tell, his coach works his ass off every day.”

“Well, it’s paid off,” Stephanie observed, pulling off a chunk of her own brownie. “You have to admit, he’s looking pretty good. No one in the field can touch him.”

“He’s still pretty worried about getting to the national competition,” Summer said. “He’s got to score well there in order to secure a place at the world circuit and start moving ahead with Olympic talk.”

“But he’s doing great!” CJ said, as sweetly enthusiastic as possible. “I mean, we all knew he could swim, right? But like this? It’s amazing!”

“If he goes to the Olympics, do you think we’ll go?” Ronnie asked, his face lighting up at the possibility. “It would be so much fun.”

“I’d have to blow, like, all my savings,” Summer said. She laughed. “But yeah, if he get there, I think I’m going.”

“I’m sure we’d figure something out,” Stephanie said. Then she shrugged, a little more suggestively than normal. “But if I were all of you, I’d start saving now.”

To think, six months ago, no one had wanted Brody to leave. No one had thought it was possible, including Brody himself.

Now they had all embraced the dream, full speed ahead.

So why was Mitch suddenly have second thoughts?

“Everything okay, Mitch?” Summer asked. “You look a million miles away over there.”

A million miles away -- not quite. But he couldn’t argue the fact that his head was probably in Florida right now. Along with his heart.

He shook his head, picking up the plate of brownies. “I’m great,” he said. “Except for the fact that you guys aren’t eating enough brownies. What am I going to do with a plate full of brownies when you guys go home? Huh?”

-o-

When the others had gone home, Mitch picked up for a little bit, but he found himself back in front of the TV. He picked up the remote, bringing up his DVR footage from the race. Was it weird to rewatch race footage? Coaches and swimmers did it all the time.

Mitch was neither, this was true.

If it was weird, at least no one was here to see it.

Besides, he liked to watched Brody’s victory’s. They felt like his victories, too.

Because Brody was amazing. Like, better than amazing. Mitch had never seen anyone swim like Brody. Totally focused, totally committed. Mitch could watch that kid swim every day of his life and he’d still be impressed.

But it was always the coverage afterward that gave Mitch reason to pause.

Other swimmers got out and hugged their coaches. They waved to their friends and family in the stand.

Brody, however, shook a few hands of his competitors and ducked his head, walking out alone.

In the pool, he had everything.

Mitch replayed the end of the race again, watching as Brody climbed out of the pool. After the glow of victory faded. Once the water was left behind. When the adrenaline was gone. When the joy had settled into reality.

Mitch had spent a long time making sure Brody was ready for the pool, and Brody was ready for the pool. But now Mitch was starting to worry that maybe Brody needed more than the pool.

And Mitch was too far away to make sure he got it.

-o-

Still, he was going to try.

Awesome race, man! he texted. You’re looking great.

After several minutes, Brody’s reply came. Thanks. Had a good night.

Everything else okay? Mitch asked.

Coach has some suggestions about how to improve my turns. Might be able to shave more off my time.

Mitch frowned, chewing his lip. That’s cool. What about outside the pool?

There was a pause. A longer pause. Mitch couldn’t help it; he stared at his phone.

Finally, Brody was typing. Just got to rest tonight.

Not going to hang out with some of the other swimmers?

Party scene’s not so good for me.

Mitch sighed; there was no way to debate that. Still. It felt like an excuse. After several more seconds, he typed more. You feeling okay?

Brody’s reply was so fast that it felt rote. Won a race. That’s why I’m here.

-o-

There was no tangible reason to doubt anything that Brody said. In fact, honestly, Brody’s decision to avoid the party scene was smart. It was admirable. It showed that Brody was learning from his past mistakes, and that he wanted to do better this time.

Still.

Still.

Six months, and Brody had been on the road for the better part of it. And beyond training and racing, what was Brody doing? Was every night a lonely night in the hotel? Was he eating breakfast alone? Did his coach sit down and ask him about how things were going -- and not just his stroke?

Six months, and Mitch wasn’t sure why these questions were coming to him now. Probably because he couldn’t get that image of Brody walking off the pool deck alone out of his head. Even the racers who had lost last night had had someone to hug and share their effort with. They’d all had post-meet plans for big dinners or special drinks.

And what did Brody do?

Sit in his hotel room.

Alone.

Texting a lifeguard on the other side of the country.

No wonder Brody only looked excited in the pool these days. Outside the pool, Mitch was starting to think he’d underestimated the lifestyle he was sending Brody back into. Because sure, they all knew that Brody needed to stay away from big parties. But was it better for him to be all by himself?

Damn it, didn’t Brody know how to find a middle ground?

Or was Mitch overreacting?

Was he just missing Brody so much that he was reading too much into Brody’s actions? Brody had said nothing to suggest that something was amiss. Brody had been completely normal, no signs of distress or regret. No, the only person showing regret was Mitch.

Regret that he had sent off his best friend for weeks at a time for a year-long commitment that would hopefully end overseas.

Mitch didn’t know.

He did know, however, that he had to go to work.

And that he had to stop watching that clip on his DVR on repeat.

If Brody were here, he’d make fun of Mitch relentlessly. That was the point, however.

Brody wasn’t here.

-o-

Work was at least an ample distraction, and he was sort of relieved for all the dumb people who got too close to the surf today. He had several interventions and one easy rescue, all of which managed to keep him preoccupied long enough to not think about what Brody was possibly doing in Florida.

That wasn’t entirely true. Mitch thought about it a little. Because he knew, for example, that Brody was going from Florida directly to New York, where a regional competition was taking place before nationals. Usually Brody came home between meets, but the close proximity between these two had made an extra stop rather superfluous. There were great training facilities in New York. It totally made sense for Brody to just go to New York, train for a week and then start competing.

At least, it had made sense before last night.

Frustrated, Mitch decided to see if he was the only one who had these doubts. At lunch, he sat down with Summer. After Mitch, he knew that Summer was the one who had the most contact with Brody. As boyfriend and girlfriend, that was probably to be expected, and Mitch could really use a secondary perspective on all things Brody.

“You talk to Brody last night?” Mitch asked, trying to sound and act casual and not like he was second guessing every life decision he’d made in the last six months.

“Uh, yeah,” she said. She smiled over the top of her sandwich. “We spent some time on the phone.”

“Oh, that’s good,” Mitch said. He shrugged, as if this was totally an offhand thought and not a conversation he’d been planning all morning. “What was he up to?”

“Just unwinding, I think,” she said. She paused to take a drink. “Those races take a lot out of him.”

Mitch nodded along because that was all well and good, well and good. “So, you know, not doing anything? Just hanging out in his room?”

She gave him a quizzical look. “Yeah, I guess,” she said. “I think he said he ordered in some food and was just going to watch some TV until he crashed.” She shrugged. “He had an early flight this morning for New York.”

That was all true, and Mitch knew all of that. But what he wanted to know was more subtle. “And he seemed good to you?”

Summer put down her sandwich. “Yeah, of course,” she said. She tilted her head. “Are you worried about him for some reason?”

“What? No,” Mitch said. “It’s just weird not having him here. I like making sure he’s okay, and I’m not sure he always tells me everything.”

With a sympathetic smile, Summer picked up her sandwich. “Well, I think he misses you, too,” she said.

“I didn’t say I missed him,” Mitch snapped reflexively. Just because he was sitting around like an anxious father with his son away at college for the first time didn’t mean that he wanted everyone to know it. “I just want him to be okay.”

Summer looked bemused now. “He told me to make sure you were still working out and keeping out,” she said. “He’s worried that you’ll let yourself go without him.”

Mitch glowered. “I could still kick his ass.”

Summer nodded sagely as she prepped her sandwich for another bite. “I’ll be sure to let him know.”

Mitch devoured his own sandwich. Because damn it, this wasn’t about him.

-o-

Or was it?

Mitch had his doubts.

He had doubts about everything.

For all that he fretted over the course of the afternoon, Brody texted him at dinner to report that he had landed in New York and that everything was fine.

Competition here does look stiffer, but coach isn’t worried.

Mitch tapped back on his phone eagerly. And you shouldn’t be. Your swimming is great.

Brody’s reply was just as fast. Can’t let up, man. You know that.

Mitch typed a little and then erased it. Then he typed again. Plans for tonight?

The reply Brody sent back was unflinching. The usual.

By yourself again?

This time, Brody did hesitate. But not for long. I’m here to work, Mitch. Anything outside of that is a distraction.

Mitch frowned, chewing on the inside of his lip. It wasn’t like he wanted to discourage a strong work ethic, and he knew he could subvert the quest Mitch had helped Brody set out on.

But all the same, something was missing.

Something was off.

A few distractions aren’t so bad, Mitch finally typed.

At Baywatch, with you, sure, Brody replied. But things are different on the road.

Was this validation? Was Mitch supposed to tell Brody to forget the Olympics and come home now? Or was this merely a sign of Brody’s maturity?

Shit, Mitch had no idea.

Finally, he typed, You sure you’re okay?

Just doing the best I can.

That wasn’t an answer. Or it was an answer. As far as Mitch could tell, it could be a muted cry for help from abject loneliness. I’m here for you, buddy. Always.

The wait for an answer wasn’t that long, but it felt long. It was long enough. I know.

-o-

Mitch didn’t get much sleep that night. If he wasn’t rewatching the footage from after Brody’s last race, he was going back over the string of balanced and reasonable text messages that both suggested that nothing was wrong and that everything was wrong.

Sleep deprived and anxious, Mitch made his way to work the next morning. He was ready for some work on the beach to distract when CJ handed him an article she’d clearly printed out from the Internet.

CJ often shared articles about puppy adoptions in the area or sea life activism, but this time it was a sports headline.

About Brody.

Of course it was about Brody.

So much for a distraction.

CJ looked quite proud of herself. “Ronnie set up an alert on my computer, so every time Brody’s name is in the news, we get emails,” she said. “And this one popped up today.”

Mitch couldn’t help but read the headline more carefully now. Disgraced Gold Medalist Matt Brody Poised for An Epic Comeback.

“The headline could be better, but whatever,” CJ said, waving her hand dismissively through the air. “Read it!”

Standing there, article in hand and CJ staring at him, Mitch really had no choice. CJ was right; it was actually a very nice article. It was printed in a local New York paper, presumably to gather press before the upcoming meet. It reported about Brody’s progress over the last six months, and how his return to competitive swimming had been seamless in the pool so far.

He hesitated, however, over one paragraph.

While it seems that Brody has fallen back into his best training habits, some people have their doubts about his personal life. There are no reports of partying so far, but the gold medalist has also been strangely elusive on the road, giving far fewer interviews with the press. This makes it much harder to gauge his mental and emotional state as he ramps up his physical output this racing season.

It was a little validating that he wasn’t the only one who noticed.

He was, however, seemingly the only one who cared.

“I never thought it’d matter to me this much!” CJ enthused. “I feel like it’s my brother out there or something! I mean, I miss him, but I’m just so proud, you know?”

Mitch handed the article back to her, a forced smile on his face. “Yeah, I know.”

CJ looked thoughtful, pausing in her train of thought. “It’s weird to think about,” she commented. “Brody out there, all on his own.”

Mitch had many thoughts about Brody being alone, but weird hadn’t been among them. “Weird how?”

She shrugged. “You know, just getting to know himself again,” she said. “He changed so dramatically when he first came here that I have to think it’s an adjustment.”

An adjustment. Were these growing pains? And how many pains were normal? “Do you think he’s going to be okay?”

CJ looked surprised by the question, or, at the very least, surprised by the gravity he imbued into the question. “You think he’s not?” she asked.

Mitch backtracked quickly. “No, I mean, no,” he said. “It’s just, you’re right. It is weird.”

She smiled again, patting him on the arm. “I think you’re just missing him a little,” she said with a low air of commiseration.

Mitch huffed a laugh. “Yeah,” he agreed. “Maybe a little.”

Her voice lowered even more and she knitted her eyebrows together conspiratorially. “Your secret is safe with me.”

He managed a light chuckled as she made her way out of the breakroom, ready to show the article to the next person she met. It probably wasn’t a secret that Mitch missed Brody a little.

But it might be a secret that he missed him a lot.

-o-

Mitch had to conduct a jetski refresher for part of the team, which at least meant that he had plenty to do. Riding around on a jetski was loud, wet and really preoccupying. By the end of the day, he was a little sore from all the friction, and he was ready to cap off an early night without much time to worry about Brody.

Of course, that was when Brody texted him.

Because fate was super fair like that.

Mitch could ignore all other signs, but he couldn’t ignore Brody.

Ugh, today was long.

At least Mitch could commiserate. That was a little like old times.

Old times being six months ago.

Six months felt so long.

Same here, Mitch replied. You gonna blow off some steam?

Haha, was Brody’s quick response. I’m just like you now. Old, boring, tired.

Mitch rolled his eyes, but at least that much made him smile. You can still go out, you know.

And are you going out this evening? Brody replied instead.

Mitch had to admit, Brody had a point.

But Mitch was a well rounded, reasonable adult with a stable background.

Brody was less so.

What do you do in your room all by yourself?

Brody replied quickly, but he was noticeably not on point. How’s Baywatch?

Mitch didn’t want to let it slide, but he did like talking to Brody about normal stuff. Jetski training.

Damn, sounds fun.

You could have used it, Mitch typed with a wicked grin. You suck at jetskis.

Whatever, Brody replied. How are the fish?

It was likely, then, that Brody missed home as much as home missed him. Mitch was willing to indulge this because it was probably just as gratifying for him as it was for Brody. Now that you’re not feeding them, none of them seem to die. Imagine that.

It’s Little Mitch, I’m telling you, was Brody’s quip. Is Little Mitch okay?

Mitch’s eyebrows went up. You’re seriously asking about that?

What, he’s our third roommate.

Mitch shook his head. You’re weird.

Brody’s typed reply was rapid fire. You’re the one who had Little Mitch custom made. I’m not the weird one.

Rolling his eyes, Mitch eased back into the couch as he continued to type. You should really go out, hang with some of the guys.

Brody started typing, then stopped. There are no guys.

This wasn’t exactly true; there would be lots of guys, lots of swimmers who could share Brody’s thoughts about all things swimming.

That had to matter, right?

At the very least, it had to matter that Brody wasn’t alone all the time.

Finally, Mitch typed, Coach?

Nah, Brody replied hastily. “Kind of on my own out here.

There was something about it. Something plaintively true that was disconcerting. It wasn’t inherently bad to be alone, Mitch knew that and believed it.

But sometimes, you did better with people.

Mitch knew that implicitly now, whether he wanted to or not. He thought of Brody when he first came to Baywatch. He thought of Brody when he got scammed by his birth mother. He thought of Brody going undercover and nearly getting himself killed.

It wasn’t just that Brody was vulnerable when he was alone.

It was that Mitch wasn’t there to protect him.

Sighing, Mitch had sobered appropriately. You really okay?

There was a long moment of stillness. Then, Brody type a short, simple message. It’s cool, man.

Mitch closed his eyes.

Because nothing had ever seemed less cool.

-o-

The problem was, naturally, what the hell was he supposed to do about it? As a lifeguard, he was great at taking initiative. That was how he saved lives. That was how he saved the bay. Because Mitch could identify a problem and enact a solution seamlessly. He never waited for approval or backup or justification. He just did things that he knew were right.

Done and done.

That worked on the beach.

That worked in the bay.

That even worked in his own home.

You know where it didn’t work?

In New York.

When Mitch was in Los Angeles.

Then it didn’t work at all.

Then Mitch was as clueless as the tourists on his beach who thought that riptides were just kind of strong and sharks were way out in the ocean and couldn’t possibly eat them near the shore.

Right.

Mitch had never found ignorance as enviable as he did right now.

Because straight up, he was fresh out of ideas.

Completely.

He didn’t have any idea what to do.

So he did the only thing he could: he kept working. And then he begged Ronnie to help him stream an audio covering the qualifying rounds of competition for the regional contest in New York. Was it overkill to listen to qualifying rounds to a regional competition?

Yes.

And Mitch didn’t give a shit.

“It’s a local AM station, but the feed seems like it should be pretty decent quality,” Ronnie explained, as if Mitch cared about the technical specifications of the process while they set up the connection in Mitch’s office over lunch. “It’s always kind of surprising to me how many people still rely on radio these days, but it’s actually one of the most reliable forms of communication.”

“I know,” Mitch said, tapping his foot, trying not to be restless. Or trying not to show how restless he was. “I still prefer my CB radio over cell phones.”

“That’s right, your CB!” Ronnie said good naturedly as he adjusted the volume controls on Mitch’s computer. “Brody talks about that. Says you hear the weirdest shit.”

“It pays off, sometimes,” Mitch said, and none of them needed to go into specifics about how the CB radio had saved Brody’s life the night Leeds tried to take over the bay. “When it counts.”

Ronnie nodded, somewhat more sober as he stood back. “Okay, here we go,” he said, and there was a crackle of static as the signal came in and started to clear. They heard the radio call sign sound over the speakers. Ronnie gestured to it proudly. “There!”

Mitch sat forward, listening as the announcer gave an introduction to the next race. “...the most exciting name on the docket of the 200 is, of course, the infamous Matt Brody,” the announcer was saying. “There have been skeptics, but his performance so far has been nothing short of spectacular.”

The co-host joined in. “I agree, Mike. I was watching him in the pool earlier today, and I haven’t seen anyone else performing at this level. And I mean, no one.”

Mitch couldn’t help but beam a little.

That was his boy.

Shit, he really was a proud father.

Next to him, he was mildly relieved to see Ronnie beaming, too. “It’s great to see him doing so well,” he observed, still smiling. “I mean, he’s full of surprises, Brody.”

Mitch could only his agreement.

Ronnie’s mind was still working, though. “I mean, when I first met him, I thought he was all hype, you know? Full of shit,” he said. “But he’s more than that. More than I thought, anyway.”

“You have to see beyond the exterior,” Mitch said. He nodded toward Ronnie. “That was easy with a guy like you. The jackass facade is a bit harder to get through.”

At that, Ronnie chortled. “Well, I think Brody was the last one to figure it out, honestly,” he said. “I mean, all that stuff last year? When he went undercover? It was like he still thought he could be the odd man out, like he thought that maybe he didn’t quite fit in.”

Mitch remembered, better than he cared to admit. The undercover case had nearly destroyed the team -- and Brody’s position on it. Brody had nearly thrown himself in front of a bus to save the team, and it had only been when the team convinced him of his place that he finally understood that his place on Baywatch had mutuality that nothing in his life had had before.

Not even swimming.

Mitch drew his mouth into a thin line as he listened to the announcers describe the athletes coming onto the pool deck.

Especially swimming.

And Mitch had convinced him to go back.

By himself.

“And now, he’s doing this, and he’s doing great,” Ronnie said, with a self satisfied nod. “It’s just great.”

That was a lot of uses of the word great. Ronnie seemed to mean each one, but Mitch heard them each more hollowly than the one before. Fortunately, he didn’t need a reply -- great or otherwise -- as the announcers queued up the swimmers and marked the start of the race.

The funny thing about racing, Mitch discovered. Sheer minutes of adrenaline when everything in the world made perfect sense.

Followed by minutes, hours, days, weeks of in between, living for the next race.

It was all or nothing, with very little in between.

Ronnie whooped as Brody came in first, clapping his hands in exultation as the announcers celebrated another world-class performance.

Mitch closed his eyes and listened.

And he tried to convince himself that two minutes of glory made all the rest okay.

For him.

For Brody.

For all of them.

-o-

It was some relief, probably, that there was no video this time. Mitch couldn’t rewatch Brody’s expression as he exited the pool. He had no feasible way to speculate anything about Brody’s state of mind, and any attempts to do so would be pathetic self projection.

That was all well and good.

Until Mitch saw the first photos from the event.

There were several from the before the race, Brody’s face lined with concentration. Several during the race showed Brody in perfect form, easily pulling ahead of his competition. And one in the pool, after the race, when he hit the water in victory as he looked at the clock.

All those great shots, and Mitch fixated on the last one.

Brody, exiting the pool.

Head down.

Walking alone.

A single snapshot didn’t tell the whole story, Mitch knew that.

But he sort of suspected that this one might.

-o-

The whole mess was driving him to distraction. One might think, given how much of Mitch’s time Brody preoccupied when he was in California, that it would be a lessening of the load when he was gone. That had been proven to be categorically untrue in the last six months.

And profoundly impossible in the last week.

Without Brody here, Mitch had more free time, sure.

Free time he spent fretting over what Brody was doing.

If he ever needed evidence that Brody had changed him as much as Mitch had changed Brody, it was ever apparent in Brody’s absence. Mitch was no longer the cool, confident and collected lifeguard.

He was the mess of a best friend left behind.

If he wasn’t trying to dig up information about Brody’s training schedule online, he was texting Brody pointless texts just to see if he responded. If he wasn’t rewatching the same racing clips from his DVR, he was visualizing all the ways in which Brody’s solo venture in competitive swimming could go terribly wrong.

It got to the point where he almost missed a save at work. He came through, but just by the skin of his teeth. In the office, he was no better. He was losing requisition forms, forgetting to sign off on work schedules, missing deadlines with reports -- all the shit he never did.

The worst part about it was this: if Mitch was flailing this badly without Brody, what was Brody doing without Mitch?

On the one hand, maybe this was all Mitch. Maybe Brody was fine.

Or, on the other hand, Brody was crashing and burning even more spectacularly.

Mitch hated both options.

For different reasons.

But with equal measure.

This was ridiculous. Completely and totally ridiculous. How could Mitch have become an anxious parent in six months? How?

The question wasn’t really how.

No, the question was: what the hell was Mitch going to do about it?

-o-

Answer: worry.

Naturally, that was the only thing he could do was worry. With Brody in New York, refusing to text the truth, Mitch was sort of stuck. He could worry and fret and hope that no one noticed.

Everyone noticed.

Stephanie was just the only one to call him on it.

“Look,” she said, sitting down in his office without invitation. “You miss Brody.”

Mitch was immediately on the defensive. He wasn’t sure why, but he was. It seemed like the thing to be at the moment. “What? We all miss Brody.”

Stephanie did not appear to be bothered by the utter shallowness of his answer. “He means a lot to you,” she continued, almost as if Mitch hadn’t tried to protest so pathetically. That was probably her way of being kind: to completely ignore it. “And we all get it, we do.”

Mitch scowled. Because she was telling the truth? Because she could say it so easily when he hadn’t let himself say the words out loud? Because he had no idea what to do with that truth.

“And it’s okay to worry about him,” Stephanie said without prompting from Mitch. “I mean, it’s not like he doesn’t have a history for disaster, especially with competitive racing. We’d all be crazy to pretend like there aren’t risks involved with this.”

“But we’re doing our part,” Mitch said, as if he was arguing some point that didn’t actually need to be argue. “We’re calling and texting and keeping up--”

Stephanie held up a hand as if to stop him. He was actually kind of grateful that she had because he had no idea what he was trying to say. “And you’re worried it’s not enough.”

She didn’t say it callously or with any condemnation. She wasn’t blaming Mitch, and she wasn’t even blaming Brody. She was just stating the truth, putting it out there, because someone had to.

Mitch shook his head, admitting some margin of defeat on this one. “I just get this read from him,” he said. “These little things that are different. And not just he’s in training different. But different different.”

Nodding along, Stephanie appeared sympathetic to his conclusion. “You know him best. You should follow your instincts.”

“But how?” Mitch said. “I’m here; he’s in New York.”

Stephanie sighed a little, as if the answer should have been obvious. “I know,” she said. “But they do have things called planes. And last I checked, you have a hell of a lot of vacation time to blow.”

She left it at that, leaving Mitch staring after her, dumbfounded.

There were things called planes.

And Mitch had a hell of a lot of vacation time to blow.

It was a revelation, indeed.