Baywatch/Animal Kingdom: Integrity (1/2)
Title: Integrity
Disclaimer: Nope, not mine.
A/N: Have you ever wanted to cross Animal Kingdom and Baywatch? No? Well, it turns out that it’s super fun. At least, I liked it, and so did sendintheklowns who requested the fusion. This fic is for her. It’s unbeta’ed and I admittedly have seen basically only clips of Animal Kingdom so I make no promises regarding the accuracy of the character voices. Fills my fighting square for hc_bingo.
Summary: So when the call came in, Brody had no qualms. He probably should have.
PART ONE
PART TWO
-o-
When Brody started the job at Baywatch, he was pretty sure they were all crazy.
Like, they were crazy. All obsessed with saving the bay at any cost. That was shit they said -- and they actually meant it. They didn’t care about jurisdiction or common sense or anything. They just did the job because they believed the job was important.
Integrity -- that was what it was called.
Super strange concept, as far as Brody could tell. He liked them all well enough, he just didn’t understand them.
Then, he stopped trying to understand them.
What the hell, right?
The bay was in danger -- do whatever shit was necessary.
It was all good.
That was the job.
That was the team.
Brody still wasn’t sure about this whole integrity thing.
But family?
That one he was starting to enjoy.
-o-
So when the call came in, Brody had no qualms.
“I don’t know, man, it’s pretty shady, I think,” the person said over the line. “Like, I think something bad is happening.”
From the background, someone added. “I think they’re going to drown that dude!”
“Wait,” Brody said. “You said this was a rescue -- now you’re saying it’s possible assault?”
“I don’t know!” the person said. “Shit! They saw us! We got to go!”
Just like that, the call ended with a crackle of expletives and activity.
A rescue several miles off the pier? Just beyond the line of sight and out of major shipping and recreational lanes? With a possible assault going on?
That shit sounded more than shady.
It sounded like a case for the police.
Brody knew exactly what he had to do.
He grabbed the keys to the jet ski, picked up his flotation device, and put in the call to tower one.
“Hey, Mitch,” he said. “We have a call for rescue five miles north of the pier. I’m taking one of the jet ski for better time.”
“Recovery or active distress?” Mitch asked.
“Unknown,” Brody reported, and he sounded all official like. Like he knew what he was talking because shit, he did know what he was talking about. “Suspicious activity.”
“Whoa, suspicious activity--”
“Possibly an assault in progress--”
“You mean a murder?”
“Yeah, so, you know,” Brody said. “I got to run!”
Mitch sounded somewhat disconcerted over the radio static. “Brody, wait for backup, I’ll be right there--”
“That’s not the job, Mitch,” he said.
“Brody, if they’re armed--”
“Then there’s no time,” Brody said. “Call for backup if you want. I’ll meet you out there.”
He dropped the call, starting off toward his jet ski, and didn’t look back.
-o-
The cool thing was that besides family and integrity, Brody was also good at this job.
Like, really.
He was good at it.
That probably didn’t sound very important to most people, and maybe it would sound weird for a guy with two gold medals, but Brody was Brody. He was a perennial screw up, and his entire life had been marked by failure, rejection and utterly falling short of every expectation. Even with those two gold medals, he had managed to torpedo his career with a gusto that no one could have predicted.
That wasn’t true, though. Every foster parent who ever took him in, every case worker who had his file on their desk, every teacher who had the displeasure of flunking him -- they all would have predicted it. Because Matt Brody? Was synonymous with idiot.
So the fact that he’d been a member of Baywatch for a year?
Well, that shit meant something.
That meant everything.
In that context, acting as crazy as the rest of them really seemed pretty damn normal to him.
Okay, not normal.
It was never normal for someone trained as a lifeguard to start running around doing duties better suited for a cop. And Brody was dumb as rocks sometimes, but he had a pretty good sense of self preservation because all foster kids had that shit. So the whole, running around, charging head first into danger would always be a thing that seemed stupid to him.
But hell yeah, he was going to do it, no questions asked.
Because Mitch would do it.
So Brody ran across the beach, slid onto the jet ski -- without falling off, he never fell off anymore, for real -- and he started it up. He was fluidly jumping into action, mindfully speeding away from the shore, navigating by sheer instinct toward the location of the call.
All just like Mitch.
Because Brody used to want normal.
Now he’d trade family for normal any day.
The fact that he got to be a hero in the process?
Well, shit, that was just icing on the whole damn cake.
-o-
Brody could swim fast, but jet skis were pretty amazing. They went super fast and you didn’t get super exhausted on them. Plus, like, they weren’t bothered by riptides or jellyfish. Brody had been recruited because he was good in the water, and sure, that was his thing. He was fast and shit. But honestly, he liked this whole jet ski thing a lot more than he expected.
Plus, how crazy was it that they paid him to do this? Like, they owned the jet ski, and gave him the keys. And then the paid him to use it.
This job was crazy good. Even without all that family stuff, Brody probably would have enjoyed it. Of course, without the family stuff, he probably would have imploded, self destructed and generally gotten himself kicked off, but whatever. This shit was fun.
Also, Brody reminded himself as he closed in on the position, it was serious. Zipping around on a jet ski was the means to an end in this job, and Brody had been here long enough to appreciate the difference. It was entirely possible to love messing around on a jet ski, as long as he knew how to get serious when it was time to do the job.
In other words: when it was time to save shit, it was time to get down to business.
Fortunately, for as ambiguous as the call had been, there was nothing ambiguous about the situation. The caller had been right: it looked suspicious as shit. The boat was drifting five miles out from the dock, unmoored but engine off. There were two menacing figures on the deck. Brody knew they were menacing because they were dressed in black and had this stupid slicked back hair and they were wearing long sleeves even though it was stupid hot outside.
Also, his balls told him that they were menacing.
Brody’s balls had been far more accurate about this stuff under Mitch’s tutelage.
Though, honestly, thinking about his balls under Mitch’s tutelage was weird. He needed to think of a different metaphor.
Or he could stop thinking about Mitch’s balls altogether because seriously, what the hell was up with this line of thought?
The point was, the dudes in the dark shirts looked ominous.
Which was abundantly clear when you took into consideration the third dude.
Smaller, lighter hair, prettier, bound with his hands behind his back, cowering on his knees.
All while being held at gunpoint.
Well, shit.
Brody’s instincts were to get the hell out of there and call the cops. Because, like, guns were definitely not part of his job as a lifeguard and this couldn’t possibly be his actual jurisdiction, even under Mitch’s liberal definition of jurisdiction.
So what did Brody do?
He directed the boat directly toward the shady dudes with the gun and yelled out, “This is Baywatch! Put the gun away!”
Because that was exactly what Mitch would do.
-o-
So, the thing was, confronting criminals holding someone at gunpoint was actually what Mitch would do.
But, like, Mitch would make it work because he was Mitch.
A year into this thing, and Brody had changed a lot and he’d become more like Mitch, but he still wasn’t Mitch. When he yelled at dudes with guns to stop, they gave him a double take, narrowed their eyes and then promptly pointed the gun at him.
“Come on, guys,” Brody said, bringing the jet ski to a stop a short distance away from the boat. Closer than he probably wanted to be, but he had to make it look like he wasn’t scared. He had to make this seem official and stuff. And, like, the ocean could be loud. He didn’t need to be yelling. The jet ski bobbed on the waves and Brody smiled at the two men, letting his gaze linger on the third one in their grasp. “No one has to get hurt.”
This was presumptuous as hell, considering he was the one now being held at gunpoint. It really was crazy how Mitch’s tactics played out in practical application. All those months of ignoring his instincts, and look where it got Brody.
Held at gunpoint.
While on a jet ski.
Miles from shore.
But, hey, at least he was super calm about it.
So, you know, that was something.
The man bound on his knees shuddered, shaking his head. His face was bloodied with bruises setting in around his nose and a split lip. Clearly, they had been out here for awhile -- and clearly, it hadn’t been going very well. The thinner one seemed to swallow back his words, looking down as he tried to get control of his emotions. He notably did not look relieved by the sudden appearance of a lifeguard on a jet ski.
Who would have guessed.
Brody did not let that deter him.
“I don’t know what’s going down here, but I know we can all walk away from this,” Brody continued with that calm, cool and collected way Mitch always had about him. Of course, Mitch was also a force of nature with a winning smile and Brody was, well, Brody, but whatever. He tried to smile; he did have a nice smile. “Or, you know, float away. Whatever.”
The joke landed flat, like a pancake run over by a tank.
The thin guy choked on a sob, like he thought things had somehow gotten worse.
“This doesn’t concern you, lifeguard,” one of the men growled.
The other guy was still holding onto the guy on his knees, and his fingers tightened reflexively at the nape of his neck. The younger guy gasped, looking up with a flash of terror. It looked like he’d been beaten, but not for the sheer sake of drawing blood. The damage wasn’t nearly as bad as it could, as it would have been if the guys had been trying to kill him outright. No, this guy had been their source of information. He had something these guys wanted, and he had thus far refused to give it up.
Brody had to wonder what the hell was so important that you wouldn’t give it up. He wondered what was possibly worth your life.
Maybe it wasn’t a thing.
Maybe it was a person.
Maybe it was an ideal.
That was why Brody was here, wasn’t it?
Because of Mitch? Because of Baywatch?
That was what people needed in life: something worth dying for.
Of course, once you had that, the trick was figuring out how to live for it instead.
Brody had done okay for about a year.
Time would tell how it would turn out for both of them right now.
The smaller guy, the thin one on his knees, looked terrified as the other goon tightened his grip on his collar. Still menacing. These guys and their menacing. It was a little too on the nose.
“Please,” the guy on his knees said, not quite whimpering. The grip tightened again and he stuttered. “Please, just--”
Another gun was produced, this one pressed against the guy’s head for good measure. His voice cut off abruptly as both the goons straightened, squaring their shoulders and standing their ground. Still menacing.
These guys and their menacing. It was a little too on the nose.
Brody sighed, hands up and he shook his head in resignation. On the nose, yes. Effective, also yes. To hell with these people who were effective criminals. It was wearying. “My job is to protect the bay, and that means all the people in it,” he said. “We’re still in my bay. That guy over there? He’s mine to protect. So I do think it actually concerns me.”
Look at that. Brody was using logic. Good logic. Hero logic.
The guy cocked the gun, taking a step closer to the edge of the boat. “Turn your boat around and get the hell out of here or I’ll plug you and leave you both for dead,” he said.
That at least confirmed that these suspicious dudes were really up to no good. So, you know, Brody had cause to investigate them. Because that shit right there was a threat. That stuff had legal precedence. That meant Brody had been right coming out here to confront them.
It also meant that they were likely going to kill him.
Because he was a lifeguard. He was armed with a flotation device.
And they were miles from shore.
Brody frowned.
He probably should have thought this one through a little bit. This shit always worked for Mitch; why did it always work for Mitch?
And why couldn’t Brody bring himself to walk away?
Why?
On his knees, the thin guy looked at Brody, eyes locking. He was desperate; he was terrified. It was a look Brody knew well -- he’d seen it in the mirror a lot throughout his life. That knowledge that you screwed up, that you did the wrong thing, and that now there was no way out of it. Now, there was only a reckoning.
And that reckoning?
That could suck.
Brody knew that, too. Because yeah, he’d looked down the barrel of a gun. Shit, he’d stepped forward and pressed it against his own head because he’d been so damn lost and alone.
The thing about that was that he’d probably deserved it. Honestly, there wouldn’t have been many people to miss him. It wasn’t like he’d been some good person or had done something super redemptive to make his death a tragedy.
That was why Mitch coming back to save him from Leeds? Had been really amazing.
Because Mitch didn’t have to.
No one would have blamed him for leaving Brody to die. Not even Brody.
Mitch had given Brody another chance anyway.
His last chance.
That was why Brody was still standing here today.
That was why Brody was here.
Brody was this guy’s last chance. Maybe his only chance. He didn’t want to die any more than Brody did, and what the hell did Brody know? Who the hell was to say who deserved it more?
“I have friends,” the man on his knees pleaded, and he was rambling a bit now in abject desperation. “I can put in a call, I can get you what you want. I know people. I know people--”
Really, it didn’t matter. This wasn’t some stupid contest, and even if it was, Brody would lose. It didn’t matter if this guy was a deadbeat, a criminal or some idiot who was down on his luck.
Who was Brody to judge anyway?
Who was Brody?
Well, that answer was actually kind of simple, when you got right down to it.
Brody was a lifeguard. All his mistakes, shortcomings, faults and idiosyncrasies aside, Brody was a lifeguard.
Brody was a Baywatch lifeguard.
He wanted to protect this bay.
No matter what.
Bolstering his chest out, Brody held his ground.
Or, you know, his water.
“Look, you know I can’t do that,” he said. “So why don’t you just let the guy go--”
The other guy, holding the dude by the collar, used his gun to smack the guy being held captive -- hard. His eyes rolled up in his head, face going suddenly blank. Then, he slumped unceremoniously, body held up limply by the guy who was still holding onto the back of his head by the tufts of his hair.
“This is personal business,” the other guy explained. He smiled, as if to be diplomatic. “Trust me, he’s got it coming. He’s not some innocent asshole that you’re pulling out from a riptide. He’s not some tourist on vacation or nothing like that. He owes us, and he can’t pay the bill on our terms, so we have no choice but to take a pound of flesh.”
Yeah, that meant they were going to kill him.
Like, legit, kill the guy.
But what the hell had this guy done to escalate to murder? And not just murder. Dump your body in the ocean murder.
Drug deal, maybe?
Brody gauged the situation, and it seemed to fit. The guy had a pretty face, and he didn’t have the voice of a guy moving anything super heavy. He wasn’t a gun runner. He wasn’t dealing in people or shit like that. He was just pretty enough to pass drugs, though. Brody would know, after all.
Though, really, the speculation was idle.
Did it matter what this guy had done?
Things would have turned out pretty shitty for him if he’d gotten what he deserved.
No, Brody wasn’t here to pass judgement. That wasn’t the job. The job was to save people.
To save this guy.
But how was Brody going to do the job if he was dead, too?
He looked from the unconscious form back to the guys with the gun, and he forced himself to swallow as his heart thudded in his chest. Brody had come here to save someone, but how was he going to do that if he couldn’t save himself?
“We haven’t got a beef with you,” the other guy said, dragging the limp man toward the edge of the boat. “Unless Smurf is employing lifeguards now.”
Brody made a face. “Smurf? You’re dealing with cartoon characters?”
The gun cocked.
The one pointing at Brody, just for clarification.
That one.
This was so stupid crazy, and it wasn’t even the first time that he’d been in this position. Except this time, Mitch wasn’t here.
Brody blinked rapidly, trying to keep his breathing even while his palms started to sweat.
Mitch wasn’t here.
“Seriously,” Brody said, trying to sound placating. It was the tone he’d heard Mitch use on him, like, a lot. He wondered absently about Mitch again, and that backup he’d talked about. He wondered why he hadn’t waited. “Just let him go, and I promise, I’m not chasing you. I’m a lifeguard; I’m going to save his life. That’s all.”
The guy with the gun sighed. “That’s the one thing I can’t let you do,” he said while his partner hefted the thinner guy onto the edge of the boat, dangling him precariously over the side. “If this guy don’t end up dead, then I ain’t got no message to send. This is your last chance, lifeguard. You don’t have to save everyone. Sometimes, you just have to save yourself.”
Shit.
That was a pretty good ultimatum.
Brody would be smart to take it.
Mitch wouldn’t take it, though.
That wasn’t the job.
All Brody had to do was the job.
The man let go, and the limp figure fell hard and fast to the water. The instant he broke the surface, Brody moved into position, ready to jump in after him. There was a curse; then there was a gunshot.
Then, there was pain.
In shock, Brody looked down at the blood pouring from an open wound on his shoulder. He looked numbly at the body floating face first in the water. He looked up at the men on the boat.
“Your choice, lifeguard,” he said.
And it said it so simple.
Like it was a simple choice.
It was, wasn’t it?
He looked back down at the blood on skin, seeping out between his fingers. It was running down his chest, trickling down his back. His head started to spin -- the pain, the shock, the everything -- and he was struck by the sudden, almost violent realization, that he didn’t want to die.
Not when he finally had a home.
Not when he finally had a family.
For the first time in his life, he had some shred of self respect.
His eyes landed on the figure in the water, still floating, face down.
And if he let that man drown -- that man who had reminded him so much of himself -- then that self respect was gone.
He wouldn’t be worthy of that family.
He wouldn’t belong in that home.
That crazy home.
Those crazy people.
Brody jumped into the water, all thoughts of reason and logic and self preservation be damned.
The choice was made.
And Brody had no regrets.
-o-
Regrets, no.
Some hesitation, yeah.
Hell, yeah.
Because the sketchy dudes with guns?
They also weren’t shitting around.
They had shot Brody once.
And now they were still firing.
The next gunshot rippled in the water; another nicked his leg. Sputtering on the salt water, Brody managed a dive, drawing down as fast as he could in the opposite direction of the victim.
The echo of the gunshots were muffled now, but Brody could see the disturbances in the water as streaks of blood followed him.
Now, in desperation, he dove straight down, hoping like hell that they wouldn’t be able to see him. The ocean was vast and dark; that would work in his favor.
The gunshots grew even more distant. Treading beneath the surface, Brody could see the bullets moving off in a different direction.
They couldn’t see him, then.
That was good.
Brody swallowed, the sound echoing in his ears.
The problem was, of course, that as effective as this hiding place was, it was also going to kill him. He’d taken only a partial breath, and with his adrenaline surging, his lungs were already burning. He actually was really good at holding his breath under most circumstances, but when he was bleeding?
And he was still bleeding. He could see the blood, effusing out into the water, ribbons of red around him. The water would only make the bleeding worse, and he was going to pass out at this rate. Blood loss, lack of oxygen: it didn’t matter. It all ended with him dying instead.
Worse, if he’d been under this long, then what about the other guy? What about the other guy? What about the guy he was supposed to save?
Brody looked up at the surface.
Going up was a risk; it could cost him his life.
Staying under would guarantee his own death -- and the other guy’s.
He closed his eyes, knowing that the tears would be lost in the ocean. There was no point in delaying this. If he was going to do this, he was going to do it.
That was the job, after all.
Brody opened his eyes, letting go of his wounded shoulder as he kicked for the surface.
This was the job.
You had to be crazy to do it.
Then it was a good thing that Brody was a crazy asshole, just like the rest of them.
-o-
It wasn’t that Brody didn’t have doubts. He did, okay? He had a lot of doubts. He would always have doubts. But he could make the choice now. He could overcome them because he wanted to, because he knew a better way.
Because maybe his common sense wasn’t all that great.
With common sense, he’d still be alone.
This crazy-ass shit got him a family.
If it also got him killed in the process, then Brody would deal with that.
First things first, however.
He had to do the job.
And that wasn’t to think about himself.
That was to think about the person drowning in the ocean.
The person he’d come out here to save.
The job.
Breaking the surface, Brody inhaled greedily, but he didn’t use the influx of oxygen to steady himself. Instead, he turned his attention toward orienting himself across the expanse of the ocean, looking for the victim.
He saw the jet ski first, still drifting in the now-choppy waves. He followed the line of sight logically to the guy’s last known location before he’d been thrown unceremoniously overboard.
And there.
He was right there, right where Brody deduced. He’d drifted a ways in the current, but he was still within range.
Still face down.
Spurred on by that fact, Brody started to swim. The movement was painful, to say the least, and he wished adrenaline was enough to make him not feel it. It wasn’t. He felt it, every stroke. He felt it as the life leeched out of him into the ocean. He felt it, tearing into him, seeping away. He felt it and still didn’t stop.
How long had it been?
A matter of minutes, maybe?
It didn’t take that long for someone to bleed to death, he didn’t think.
It was more than enough time for someone to drown, however.
Whoever the hell this guy was, whatever the hell he’d gotten himself into, he was damn lucky Brody was here. He knew a thing about second chances, third chances, all the damn chances, ever. He had to hope he had one more in him.
Just one more.
With several more agonizing strokes, Brody crossed the distance, using his good arm to roll the victim onto his back. With his face pointed up, Brody was in a better position to assess his condition.
It wasn’t great.
His tan skin was sallow, a grayish hue beneath the upper layers. His hair had hints of sun in it, but slicked back against his head, it looked dark and thick. His features were a somewhat delicate, a trait that was only intensified by the hints of blue settling into his lips and eyelids.
He looked like some kind of kid like this. It was weird being a lifeguard, seeing people at their most vulnerable. When Brody came to the rescue, everyone looked the same. No matter their age, no matter the gender, no matter their size. No matter who they were or what they’d done. They were all helpless in their own ways.
The ocean could be an equalizer in this way.
Brody knew that from experience.
It was hard being on the other side of that equation.
This side? Playing the hero?
That wasn’t easy, either.
He wondered if Mitch had felt this way when he dragged Brody out of a cage at the bottom of the ocean. That it didn’t matter that Brody was a stupid bastard; no one deserved to die like that.
No Brody.
And not this guy, whatever his story might be.
Without checking, Brody knew that the guy wasn’t breathing. Leaning over, he pinched off the guy’s nose, craning his body uncomfortably to deliver two rescue breaths. That was standard procedure, after all. That was the first step to saving a life.
He watched as the guy’s chest rose and feel, and he reached up, pressing two fingers into the pale skin at his neck. Nothing.
Brody frowned, pressing his fingers a little deeper and trying to force himself to concentrate even more. He knew a lot of people thought he had the attention span of a flea, but you didn’t win a gold medal because you didn’t know how to concentrate. You won because you knew when to put it all on the line, when to ignore your body, ignore common sense, put your head down and win.
He wasn’t going for gold anymore.
Saving this guy’s life: that was the higher calling.
Still nothing.
Brody had waited too long.
His own throat constricted, Brody repositioned himself, giving the guy two more rescue breaths. Without his heart circulating the blood, it was sort of a futile gesture, but shot and five miles off the shore with a drowning victim that needed active resuscitation -- well, futile gestures were about all Brody had.
After all, things weren’t all bad.
He was still conscious, after all.
And, like, he had a jet ski.
Plus, the dudes in the boat had gone away.
Brody breathed for the victim again, pushing the air painfully through his own suddenly sluggish lungs.
Mitch had probably thought helping him out had been futile. That early training, when Brody had suggested cell phones and brought donuts -- shit, all of that had to have been futile. But it’d worked out. Mitch had made it work.
Brody wasn’t Mitch, but there was still one other factor working in his favor.
Brody also wasn’t alone.
Which meant this guy, whoever he was, wasn’t alone either.
All they had to do was hang on.
Because Mitch would come.
Brody forced two more breaths into the guy’s lungs, watching as his chest rose and fell. The color was deepening on his face, his skin growing even more pallid. Brody pressed close with two more rescue breaths, blinking through his own fading vision.
It was crazy, this whole thing.
Getting shot.
Saving lives.
Doing the job.
The craziest shit ever.
He caught himself as his head bobbed down toward the water, and he startled back awake long enough to give two more breaths while the smell of his own blood was washed into the salty waves.
Crazy.
He remembered to breathe for the victim again, eyes blurring as he looked up again. He blinked; he blinked again.
How much time had passed?
Looking down, he tried to assess the victim, but it was hard to make his eyes focus.
Hard to think.
Crazy.
He had to finish this, though. He had to finish the job.
His uncoordinated fingers found no purchase this time and he felt his heartbeat stagger in his chest.
Too bad maybe the job had finished him instead.
There was a disturbance on the water, and Brody thought for a moment maybe all the blood had attracted sharks or, you know, something else horrible had happened. But it was a boat.
Craning his neck, he tried to find it, but he couldn’t see anything until the bobbing vehicle speeding toward him was much closer. If it was the bad guys, then he was screwed. He looked down at the guy, the one he’d come out there to save, and wanted to apologize. There wasn’t going to be a second chance.
Or a third chance.
Or, you know, any chances.
The words wouldn’t form in his throat and he closed his eyes.
The waves crested over him as the boat killed its engine, and Brody was so numb that he was pretty sure he wouldn’t feel a second gunshot when it split his skin. That was some consolation at least.
Shit, this job was making him a lot more crazy than he thought.
There wasn’t a gunshot, though.
There was just some guy, calling his name.
Brody startled back to himself and looked up.
The boat was right next to him now, but it wasn’t some random boat. It was yellow. Like, Baywatch yellow.
And there wasn’t some shady dude in it looking to kill him.
It was Mitch.
Oh shit, it was Mitch.
Brody could screw up the job, sure.
But at least he couldn’t screw up family just yet.
-o-
And Mitch had a plan.
Brody had come to love that about Mitch.
He always had a plan.
They were crazy plan, they were stupid plans, they were impossible plans.
But they were plans.
And, more often than not, they involved people not dying.
Brody could go for that right now.
Like, seriously.
He was about two seconds away from possibly dying, so the idea of not dying sounded pretty damn good.
But first things first.
“You need to take him,” Brody panted, treading water weakly as he pulled closer to the side of the boat. “He doesn’t have a pulse. Don’t know how long.”
Mitch didn’t require much additional explanation. Mitch had been doing this job a lot longer than Brody had; he knew his shit. He knew what to do with a victim.
With long arms, Mitch reached down, snagging the guy underneath the armpits. Brody did what he could to help safely maneuver the guy, keeping his head clear from the side of the boat, but it was Mitch who heaved him up, allowing the limp form to clear the side of the boat as he lowered him gently to the other side out of Brody’s line of sight.
Then, Mitch reached back over the side, a hand outstretched to Brody.
Brody stared at it, confused.
“You have to get him breathing!” Brody said back. “I kind -- I lost track of time--”
Mitch’s hand didn’t waver. “You’re bleeding, man. I got to get you out of the water.”
“That’s just the gunshot wound--”
“The what?” Mitch asked, sounding incredulous.
“The victim, Mitch!” Brody said, drawing on the last of his energy reserves. “You have to do the job!”
Mitch’s face contorted. Confusion. Worry. Something more. “Brody--”
Brody inhaled as deeply as he could, putting what he could for his last stand.
Metaphorically speaking.
He wasn’t standing right now.
But whatever.
“Please,” Brody said. “Do the job.”
Face tightening, Mitch’s expression hardened as he pulled his hand away. He afforded Brody one last look as he turned back over the edge of his boat, disappearing from Brody’s line of sight as he went to his hands and knees. Over the sound of the waves, Brody could hear the distant sounds of Mitch doing CPR.
Doing the job.
Brody couldn’t feel his legs anymore; he wasn’t sure if he was moving. The red was diffuse in the water around him, spreading and spreading and spreading.
This was a crazy job, when you got right down to it.
Who would have thought? Matt Brody could be a hero.
All part of the job.
Brody eased back until he was floating on the surface of the water, eyes fixed up on the sky above him.
Integrity?
Still crazy to Brody, but that was okay.
His eyes started to close as he drifted, drifted and drifted away.
All the best things in life were crazy, after all.
PART TWO
What the hell had Brody been thinking?
Seriously.
What.
The.
Hell.
Running off without backup?
Taking off without telling anyone his plan?
Putting the job first, even above his own safety?
Acting without a lick of common sense?
What the hell had he been thinking?
Within seconds, Mitch confirmed Brody’s assessment. The guy wasn’t breathing; he didn’t have a heartbeat. And it looked like he had needed CPR about three minutes ago. It might have been too long already, but it wasn’t in Mitch’s nature not to try.
Gritting his teeth, Mitch started compressions, hard, even movements, precisely calibrated over years of practice. Thirty compressions, two breaths. The body beneath him was still and cold. This guy was probably a lost cause.
Mitch swallowed back the thought. This lost cause was one Brody had risked everything to save. Besides, Mitch apparently had a thing for lost causes.
If only the ones he saved would stop going and trying to get themselves killed.
Again.
With a growl, Mitch finished a second set of compressions, wondering if this guy had friends. If he had family. If he had someone who loved him, who wanted to protect him but didn’t know how. If there was someone out there who would miss him, who would chew him out for being such a dumb asshole so as to end up here.
Finishing two more breaths, Mitch knew he wasn’t actually thinking about this guy, this unfortunate idiot who needed to be saved.
No, Mitch was thinking about his unfortunate idiot who needed to be saved.
But Brody was right: this was the job.
They put others first.
They had to put others first.
That had never been a problem for Mitch. He was fine with his own life being possibly forfeit.
But Brody’s?
Mitch grunted as he started chest compressions again.
Why did it have to be Brody’s?
Brody was supposed to be the reluctant hero. He was supposed to be the one who screwed up and slacked off. Mitch was supposed to cajole him into doing the right thing.
But this time, Brody had charged off, headlong into the unknown without a second thought. He hadn’t waited to clear it. He hadn’t waited for backup. He’d gone out and done the job.
Just like Mitch had taught it.
Damn it, damn it, damn it.
The ribs beneath him cracked, but Mitch didn’t slow down, he didn’t ease up.
With almost vicious precision, he pinched off the nose on the pale face below him and pushed in two more breaths with such a ferocity that his own chest hurt.
He could feel the starting tug of exhaustion, pulling at him when he started up the chest compressions again. How long had it been? Brody hadn’t known; Mitch was losing track. He was supposed to be better than this. Usually he had it down. He knew how many sets of compressions, how many breaths to try before it was too late.
The guy lying on the deck was still lifeless.
He looked dead.
Wet hair swept back, features pale, body slack.
Mitch could quit now and that would be that.
His eyes burned.
The job.
Brody had insisted that they finished the job.
Mitch started in again, compressing the chest beneath him faster, stronger than ever. Brody sounded so damn sincere when he talked about saving a life anymore. He sounded so completely undaunted when he told Mitch to do what had to be done -- for the job.
It sounded crazy.
It sounded absolutely, batshit crazy.
Did Mitch sound this crazy when he talked about the job?
When had Brody stopped calling him on it?
When had Brody started sounding just like him?
Damn it, Brody.
Why had Mitch let this get so far out of control?
He breathed for the guy two more times, and he wasn’t sure if he was talking about himself or Brody anymore.
Or, really, if the distinction mattered.
There was a mutuality between them now, one they hadn’t thought to acknowledge but had both taken for granted that it was insane that Mitch hadn’t realized it until now.
Until they were five miles out from shore with a dead guy between them.
Not a dead guy.
Not if Mitch could finish the job that Brody started.
That Mitch had started.
That they had to finish.
Together.
Five compressions in, the body beneath him jerked. Mitch did another compression before he realized that the dead guy wasn’t actually dead anymore. He convulse, spluttering on water as it choked him. Numbly, Mitch pulled back, helping roll the guy onto his side. The guy -- younger, blondish, tan, lithely built -- coughed, retching on sea water.
Alive.
Mitch had done it.
Brody had done it.
They had done it.
Mitch dropped his head, closing his eyes in relief, allowing himself this one moment of reprieve, of solace of a job well done.
Except the job wasn’t done.
Mitch opened his eyes, scrambling to his feet.
This was a joint effort, three people. But there were only two people on the boat now.
“Brody!” he yelled over the side. “Brody, talk to me!”
But Brody wasn’t where he left him, close to the side of the boat. Mitch’s heart skipped a beat, his stomach clenched. Eyes darting out, he saw Brody, floating on his back, eyes closed as he drifted out into the water.
“Brody!”
This was a crazy ass job, Brody was right about that.
But Mitch did it better than anyone.
With one more glance, he confirmed that the victim was starting still breathing, coughing up water.
Then, he girded himself, climbed on the edge of the boat, and jumped in.
-o-
Cutting through the water, Mitch swam as fast as he could and he cleared the distance to Brody within seconds. As fast as he was, Mitch wondered why he hadn’t been faster.
Why had he taken so long to confirm the location of the call?
Why had it taken him so long to inform others of the destination?
Why had he taken so long to get to the damn boat?
All these common sense procedures had slowed him down by minutes, and here he was, minutes too late to prevent tragedy.
The victim was alive at least.
Mitch pulled up to Brody, treading water next to him to assess his condition.
What the hell had happened in those minutes?
A drowning, sure.
But a gunshot?
Sure, it happened to Mitch.
But that was the thing. It happened to Mitch. He was there; he was the one playing point. This whole backup thing?
Well, shit, no wonder it used to stress Brody out so much.
It sucked.
“Brody,” he said, giving the floating figure a small shake as he pulled on Brody’s arm to bring him closer as the waves buffeted against them both. “Brody, hey.”
Brody didn’t reply. In the fullness of the sun, his complexion wasn’t as bad as the guy back on the boat -- but that didn’t make it good. He was pale and still.
Worse, the wound was still bleeding through his swim shirt, leaving a trail of bloody water behind him.
“Brody,” he said again, reaching up one hand to tap his cheek. “Come on, buddy.”
Brody had proven to be a quick learner under Mitch’s guidance; if anything, over the last year, he’d come to be almost too quick to please. So it was something that he didn’t comply with Mitch’s request not.
Not even the faintest of twitches.
Pursing his lips, Mitch knew what that meant. He knew about blood loss and how the water hastened the process. He knew what shock looked like, and he knew how fast you had to act to turn that shit around. He knew that Brody was dying.
Unless Mitch did something about it.
Of course MItch was going to do something about it.
“Come on,” he muttered, maneuvering his way under Brody’s body and wrapping an arm around his chest. “We’re getting out of here.”
Brody didn’t argue.
For once, that didn’t particularly make things any easier.
-o-
It was a chore getting Brody back on the boat, but fortunately, Mitch was huge and Brody was tiny. Also, under pressure, Mitch could do just about anything, so hauling Brody’s limp body out of the water wasn’t as hard as it might have seemed.
Hastily, he deposited Brody on the deck next to the victim. The victim was looking marginally more alert now. Which was to say he was awake. He looked confused as Mitch laid out Brody next to him, but he had the good sense to focus on his own ragged breathing rather than to ask Mitch any questions.
This was a lifeguard vessel, which meant there were ample supplies on board. All the same, Mitch knew as he opened up the first aid kit that this was something he could fix with gauze and band aids.
In fact, what Brody needed was direct pressure on the wound. However, he also needed to get back to the mainland for proper medical treatment at a hospital. The bad news was that Mitch was only one guy. He couldn’t do both.
Quickly wrapping the wound with as much gauze as he could, he looked over at the other guy. He had almost caught his breath by now, though he still looked pale and shellshocked. Whether it was the bleeding lifeguard or the reality of almost drowning, Mitch didn’t know. He didn’t give a shit.
All he knew was that they had saved this guy’s life -- Mitch and Brody together. Mitch usually didn’t ask victims to repay the favor, but this time he was willing to make an exception.
That was what Brody was, after all.
An exception to all of Mitch’s rules.
“Can you sit up?” Mitch asked sharply.
“What?” the guy asked, voice sounding hoarse. He sat up a little more, wincing and rubbing his chest.
“Can you sit up? Can you help?” Mitch asked, pressing the questions in rapid succession.
“I, uh, um--”
Mitch knew that near death experiences were overwhelming, and he tended to be good at showing compassion even when it was the victim’s own damn fault. Mitch couldn’t say for sure what this guy’s story was, but it was a story that wasn’t over. Mitch needed to take measures to be sure that the same was true for Brody.
“He’s bleeding, and I need you to apply pressure,” Mitch instructed, forgoing other formalities. He reached over, taking the guy’s hand and guiding it toward Brody. Scrambling, the guy complied, finding his knees on the deck next to the streaks of watery blood around Brody. Mitch pressed his hand down to the bandage. “Just like this, as hard as you can.”
The guy was trembling a little, and he looked up at Mitch with wide blue eyes. They were darker than Brody’s but no less bright. He had freckles across his cheeks and on the bridge of his nose. He looked like a surfer; Mitch knew the type. More comfortable on the waves than on dry land, but he looked positively out of his element here. Maybe that was because he’d almost died on the waves, but maybe it was because he wasn’t used to being the hero.
Maybe it was because Mitch always talked crazy and it took some time to get used to it.
A year, apparently.
Shit.
“Can you do this?” Mitch demanded.
Drawing a shaky breath, the guy nodded. “Yeah,” he said. He sat forward a little more, pressing down harder, putting more direct pressure on the bullet wound in Brody’s shoulder. “I think I can.”
“Good,” Mitch said. “What’s your name?”
“Adrian,” the guy replied. “My name’s Adrian.”
“Good to meet you Adrian, I’m Mitch,” he said. “And the guy whose life you’re going to save is Brody. Got it?”
Adrian nodded again with more confidence this time around. “Got it.”
“He’s he one who saved your ass, by the way,” Mitch said as he turned toward the helm. “So don’t let him down.”
It wasn’t exactly intended as a threat. The growl in his voice was emotion; the terseness was adrenaline.
But what the hell.
Mitch wasn’t about to correct the guy if he thought it was.
-o-
Despite the advanced navigation system on board, Mitch relied solely on his instinct. This was still his bay, after all. He knew it like the back of his hand. He didn’t need GPS to tell him how to get back to the mainland.
Safety regulations dictated a maximum speed. Mitch knew this; he had helped set those safety regulations.
They seemed woefully inappropriate now, and Mitch didn’t care if it was reckless, he didn’t care if it was crazy. He went faster.
He glanced at Brody and the pool of blood starting to grow beneath him despite Adrian’s continued efforts.
And he went faster still.
-o-
By the time they were approaching the shore, Mitch could see the emergency vehicles lined up along the sand. He’d taken time to radio in, yelling out updates over the frenetic sound of the wind and waves as the boat whipped through the water. It was enough to let them know they had two confirmed victims now, one drowning and one gunshot. The paramedics would be ready.
He didn’t have time to explain to Stephanie that the other victim was Brody.
Or maybe he just didn’t have the words.
Because how the hell was he supposed to say that Brody had been shot?
It was too crazy; he wouldn’t believed it. Shit, he hardly believed it now and he’d dragged Brody’s cold body out of the water leaking blood everywhere.
Adrian, still on his knees next to Brody on the deck, didn’t seem to notice that they were approaching the shore. In fact, he didn’t seem to realize anything until Mitch had pulled the boat almost to a standstill in the shallows.
Killing the engine, Mitch waved to the paramedics before crossing over toward Brody and Adrian. He was on his knees on Brody’s other side, gently nudging Adrian’s hands out of the way as he applied pressure on his own. As the other man sat back, his adrenaline seemed to flag again, but Mitch didn’t have time to play nursemaid.
No, not with the job to be done.
The first pair of medics had climbed on board, looking between the three occupants. “What do we have?”
Mitch adjusted his grip, trying not to notice how much paler Brody looked now. He should have checked his breathing again; but then, he should have done a lot of things. “Got a call five miles out,” Mitch reported. He nodded toward Adrian. “One victim was rescued and resuscitated.”
One of the medics sat down next to Adrian with some concern. The other crossed closer to Mitch, looking down at Brody. “And how the hell did you end up with a GSW?”
“I wasn’t there,” Mitch said. “You’ll want to ask him.”
They all looked at Adrian this time, who went colorless once more with the attention. “I was, um. Attacked,” Adrian said. He appeared to be choosing his words carefully. “I didn’t get a good look at them. When the lifeguard showed up, they just started shooting.”
That was probably some variation of the truth. Some simplified version that conveniently left out the hows and whys. No doubt, Adrian knew the guys. No doubt, Adrian knew why they’d taken him that far out. No doubt, Adrian knew a lot more than he was telling.
Shock, though. It was a valid reason.
Also, the details didn’t matter now.
Not when Brody still needed a hospital.
“It passed through the shoulder,” Mitch continued, directing the medic’s attention back toward Brody. “He was in the water for a few minutes, which didn’t help.”
“We’ll take care of it from here,” the medic said with a note of assurance. He smiled at Mitch. “You can count on that.”
Mitch tried to smile back, but he couldn’t quite make himself do it.
Because Mitch counted on Baywatch.
Mitch counted on Brody.
Just like Brody counted on him.
They counted on family.
And that hadn’t exactly turned out so well for them today.
-o-
It was a bit of a fiasco.
Emergency vehicles always drew a crowd, and when word got out that Brody was one of the victims, then half the lifeguards in the bay were on call. That wasn’t protocol by any stretch of the imagination, but lifeguards were human. More than that, they were family. Of course they were going to come.
Summer, who had gleaned as much as she could from Stephanie, took the ambulance with Brody, who was deemed stable enough to transport. Mitch, finding himself uncomfortably left behind, diverted questions from the crew, circumvented Ellerbee altogether, and instead agreed to accompany Adrian to the hospital.
That wasn’t what he normally did. Normally, Mitch would be ready to get back to business once a victim was handed off.
But he didn’t want to answer questions. He couldn’t even answer questions.
Besides, he was going to be there for Brody.
This was how you played backup.
Brody hadn’t waited for him before.
He sure as hell hoped Brody would wait this time.
Disclaimer: Nope, not mine.
A/N: Have you ever wanted to cross Animal Kingdom and Baywatch? No? Well, it turns out that it’s super fun. At least, I liked it, and so did sendintheklowns who requested the fusion. This fic is for her. It’s unbeta’ed and I admittedly have seen basically only clips of Animal Kingdom so I make no promises regarding the accuracy of the character voices. Fills my fighting square for hc_bingo.
Summary: So when the call came in, Brody had no qualms. He probably should have.
PART ONE
PART TWO
-o-
When Brody started the job at Baywatch, he was pretty sure they were all crazy.
Like, they were crazy. All obsessed with saving the bay at any cost. That was shit they said -- and they actually meant it. They didn’t care about jurisdiction or common sense or anything. They just did the job because they believed the job was important.
Integrity -- that was what it was called.
Super strange concept, as far as Brody could tell. He liked them all well enough, he just didn’t understand them.
Then, he stopped trying to understand them.
What the hell, right?
The bay was in danger -- do whatever shit was necessary.
It was all good.
That was the job.
That was the team.
Brody still wasn’t sure about this whole integrity thing.
But family?
That one he was starting to enjoy.
-o-
So when the call came in, Brody had no qualms.
“I don’t know, man, it’s pretty shady, I think,” the person said over the line. “Like, I think something bad is happening.”
From the background, someone added. “I think they’re going to drown that dude!”
“Wait,” Brody said. “You said this was a rescue -- now you’re saying it’s possible assault?”
“I don’t know!” the person said. “Shit! They saw us! We got to go!”
Just like that, the call ended with a crackle of expletives and activity.
A rescue several miles off the pier? Just beyond the line of sight and out of major shipping and recreational lanes? With a possible assault going on?
That shit sounded more than shady.
It sounded like a case for the police.
Brody knew exactly what he had to do.
He grabbed the keys to the jet ski, picked up his flotation device, and put in the call to tower one.
“Hey, Mitch,” he said. “We have a call for rescue five miles north of the pier. I’m taking one of the jet ski for better time.”
“Recovery or active distress?” Mitch asked.
“Unknown,” Brody reported, and he sounded all official like. Like he knew what he was talking because shit, he did know what he was talking about. “Suspicious activity.”
“Whoa, suspicious activity--”
“Possibly an assault in progress--”
“You mean a murder?”
“Yeah, so, you know,” Brody said. “I got to run!”
Mitch sounded somewhat disconcerted over the radio static. “Brody, wait for backup, I’ll be right there--”
“That’s not the job, Mitch,” he said.
“Brody, if they’re armed--”
“Then there’s no time,” Brody said. “Call for backup if you want. I’ll meet you out there.”
He dropped the call, starting off toward his jet ski, and didn’t look back.
-o-
The cool thing was that besides family and integrity, Brody was also good at this job.
Like, really.
He was good at it.
That probably didn’t sound very important to most people, and maybe it would sound weird for a guy with two gold medals, but Brody was Brody. He was a perennial screw up, and his entire life had been marked by failure, rejection and utterly falling short of every expectation. Even with those two gold medals, he had managed to torpedo his career with a gusto that no one could have predicted.
That wasn’t true, though. Every foster parent who ever took him in, every case worker who had his file on their desk, every teacher who had the displeasure of flunking him -- they all would have predicted it. Because Matt Brody? Was synonymous with idiot.
So the fact that he’d been a member of Baywatch for a year?
Well, that shit meant something.
That meant everything.
In that context, acting as crazy as the rest of them really seemed pretty damn normal to him.
Okay, not normal.
It was never normal for someone trained as a lifeguard to start running around doing duties better suited for a cop. And Brody was dumb as rocks sometimes, but he had a pretty good sense of self preservation because all foster kids had that shit. So the whole, running around, charging head first into danger would always be a thing that seemed stupid to him.
But hell yeah, he was going to do it, no questions asked.
Because Mitch would do it.
So Brody ran across the beach, slid onto the jet ski -- without falling off, he never fell off anymore, for real -- and he started it up. He was fluidly jumping into action, mindfully speeding away from the shore, navigating by sheer instinct toward the location of the call.
All just like Mitch.
Because Brody used to want normal.
Now he’d trade family for normal any day.
The fact that he got to be a hero in the process?
Well, shit, that was just icing on the whole damn cake.
-o-
Brody could swim fast, but jet skis were pretty amazing. They went super fast and you didn’t get super exhausted on them. Plus, like, they weren’t bothered by riptides or jellyfish. Brody had been recruited because he was good in the water, and sure, that was his thing. He was fast and shit. But honestly, he liked this whole jet ski thing a lot more than he expected.
Plus, how crazy was it that they paid him to do this? Like, they owned the jet ski, and gave him the keys. And then the paid him to use it.
This job was crazy good. Even without all that family stuff, Brody probably would have enjoyed it. Of course, without the family stuff, he probably would have imploded, self destructed and generally gotten himself kicked off, but whatever. This shit was fun.
Also, Brody reminded himself as he closed in on the position, it was serious. Zipping around on a jet ski was the means to an end in this job, and Brody had been here long enough to appreciate the difference. It was entirely possible to love messing around on a jet ski, as long as he knew how to get serious when it was time to do the job.
In other words: when it was time to save shit, it was time to get down to business.
Fortunately, for as ambiguous as the call had been, there was nothing ambiguous about the situation. The caller had been right: it looked suspicious as shit. The boat was drifting five miles out from the dock, unmoored but engine off. There were two menacing figures on the deck. Brody knew they were menacing because they were dressed in black and had this stupid slicked back hair and they were wearing long sleeves even though it was stupid hot outside.
Also, his balls told him that they were menacing.
Brody’s balls had been far more accurate about this stuff under Mitch’s tutelage.
Though, honestly, thinking about his balls under Mitch’s tutelage was weird. He needed to think of a different metaphor.
Or he could stop thinking about Mitch’s balls altogether because seriously, what the hell was up with this line of thought?
The point was, the dudes in the dark shirts looked ominous.
Which was abundantly clear when you took into consideration the third dude.
Smaller, lighter hair, prettier, bound with his hands behind his back, cowering on his knees.
All while being held at gunpoint.
Well, shit.
Brody’s instincts were to get the hell out of there and call the cops. Because, like, guns were definitely not part of his job as a lifeguard and this couldn’t possibly be his actual jurisdiction, even under Mitch’s liberal definition of jurisdiction.
So what did Brody do?
He directed the boat directly toward the shady dudes with the gun and yelled out, “This is Baywatch! Put the gun away!”
Because that was exactly what Mitch would do.
-o-
So, the thing was, confronting criminals holding someone at gunpoint was actually what Mitch would do.
But, like, Mitch would make it work because he was Mitch.
A year into this thing, and Brody had changed a lot and he’d become more like Mitch, but he still wasn’t Mitch. When he yelled at dudes with guns to stop, they gave him a double take, narrowed their eyes and then promptly pointed the gun at him.
“Come on, guys,” Brody said, bringing the jet ski to a stop a short distance away from the boat. Closer than he probably wanted to be, but he had to make it look like he wasn’t scared. He had to make this seem official and stuff. And, like, the ocean could be loud. He didn’t need to be yelling. The jet ski bobbed on the waves and Brody smiled at the two men, letting his gaze linger on the third one in their grasp. “No one has to get hurt.”
This was presumptuous as hell, considering he was the one now being held at gunpoint. It really was crazy how Mitch’s tactics played out in practical application. All those months of ignoring his instincts, and look where it got Brody.
Held at gunpoint.
While on a jet ski.
Miles from shore.
But, hey, at least he was super calm about it.
So, you know, that was something.
The man bound on his knees shuddered, shaking his head. His face was bloodied with bruises setting in around his nose and a split lip. Clearly, they had been out here for awhile -- and clearly, it hadn’t been going very well. The thinner one seemed to swallow back his words, looking down as he tried to get control of his emotions. He notably did not look relieved by the sudden appearance of a lifeguard on a jet ski.
Who would have guessed.
Brody did not let that deter him.
“I don’t know what’s going down here, but I know we can all walk away from this,” Brody continued with that calm, cool and collected way Mitch always had about him. Of course, Mitch was also a force of nature with a winning smile and Brody was, well, Brody, but whatever. He tried to smile; he did have a nice smile. “Or, you know, float away. Whatever.”
The joke landed flat, like a pancake run over by a tank.
The thin guy choked on a sob, like he thought things had somehow gotten worse.
“This doesn’t concern you, lifeguard,” one of the men growled.
The other guy was still holding onto the guy on his knees, and his fingers tightened reflexively at the nape of his neck. The younger guy gasped, looking up with a flash of terror. It looked like he’d been beaten, but not for the sheer sake of drawing blood. The damage wasn’t nearly as bad as it could, as it would have been if the guys had been trying to kill him outright. No, this guy had been their source of information. He had something these guys wanted, and he had thus far refused to give it up.
Brody had to wonder what the hell was so important that you wouldn’t give it up. He wondered what was possibly worth your life.
Maybe it wasn’t a thing.
Maybe it was a person.
Maybe it was an ideal.
That was why Brody was here, wasn’t it?
Because of Mitch? Because of Baywatch?
That was what people needed in life: something worth dying for.
Of course, once you had that, the trick was figuring out how to live for it instead.
Brody had done okay for about a year.
Time would tell how it would turn out for both of them right now.
The smaller guy, the thin one on his knees, looked terrified as the other goon tightened his grip on his collar. Still menacing. These guys and their menacing. It was a little too on the nose.
“Please,” the guy on his knees said, not quite whimpering. The grip tightened again and he stuttered. “Please, just--”
Another gun was produced, this one pressed against the guy’s head for good measure. His voice cut off abruptly as both the goons straightened, squaring their shoulders and standing their ground. Still menacing.
These guys and their menacing. It was a little too on the nose.
Brody sighed, hands up and he shook his head in resignation. On the nose, yes. Effective, also yes. To hell with these people who were effective criminals. It was wearying. “My job is to protect the bay, and that means all the people in it,” he said. “We’re still in my bay. That guy over there? He’s mine to protect. So I do think it actually concerns me.”
Look at that. Brody was using logic. Good logic. Hero logic.
The guy cocked the gun, taking a step closer to the edge of the boat. “Turn your boat around and get the hell out of here or I’ll plug you and leave you both for dead,” he said.
That at least confirmed that these suspicious dudes were really up to no good. So, you know, Brody had cause to investigate them. Because that shit right there was a threat. That stuff had legal precedence. That meant Brody had been right coming out here to confront them.
It also meant that they were likely going to kill him.
Because he was a lifeguard. He was armed with a flotation device.
And they were miles from shore.
Brody frowned.
He probably should have thought this one through a little bit. This shit always worked for Mitch; why did it always work for Mitch?
And why couldn’t Brody bring himself to walk away?
Why?
On his knees, the thin guy looked at Brody, eyes locking. He was desperate; he was terrified. It was a look Brody knew well -- he’d seen it in the mirror a lot throughout his life. That knowledge that you screwed up, that you did the wrong thing, and that now there was no way out of it. Now, there was only a reckoning.
And that reckoning?
That could suck.
Brody knew that, too. Because yeah, he’d looked down the barrel of a gun. Shit, he’d stepped forward and pressed it against his own head because he’d been so damn lost and alone.
The thing about that was that he’d probably deserved it. Honestly, there wouldn’t have been many people to miss him. It wasn’t like he’d been some good person or had done something super redemptive to make his death a tragedy.
That was why Mitch coming back to save him from Leeds? Had been really amazing.
Because Mitch didn’t have to.
No one would have blamed him for leaving Brody to die. Not even Brody.
Mitch had given Brody another chance anyway.
His last chance.
That was why Brody was still standing here today.
That was why Brody was here.
Brody was this guy’s last chance. Maybe his only chance. He didn’t want to die any more than Brody did, and what the hell did Brody know? Who the hell was to say who deserved it more?
“I have friends,” the man on his knees pleaded, and he was rambling a bit now in abject desperation. “I can put in a call, I can get you what you want. I know people. I know people--”
Really, it didn’t matter. This wasn’t some stupid contest, and even if it was, Brody would lose. It didn’t matter if this guy was a deadbeat, a criminal or some idiot who was down on his luck.
Who was Brody to judge anyway?
Who was Brody?
Well, that answer was actually kind of simple, when you got right down to it.
Brody was a lifeguard. All his mistakes, shortcomings, faults and idiosyncrasies aside, Brody was a lifeguard.
Brody was a Baywatch lifeguard.
He wanted to protect this bay.
No matter what.
Bolstering his chest out, Brody held his ground.
Or, you know, his water.
“Look, you know I can’t do that,” he said. “So why don’t you just let the guy go--”
The other guy, holding the dude by the collar, used his gun to smack the guy being held captive -- hard. His eyes rolled up in his head, face going suddenly blank. Then, he slumped unceremoniously, body held up limply by the guy who was still holding onto the back of his head by the tufts of his hair.
“This is personal business,” the other guy explained. He smiled, as if to be diplomatic. “Trust me, he’s got it coming. He’s not some innocent asshole that you’re pulling out from a riptide. He’s not some tourist on vacation or nothing like that. He owes us, and he can’t pay the bill on our terms, so we have no choice but to take a pound of flesh.”
Yeah, that meant they were going to kill him.
Like, legit, kill the guy.
But what the hell had this guy done to escalate to murder? And not just murder. Dump your body in the ocean murder.
Drug deal, maybe?
Brody gauged the situation, and it seemed to fit. The guy had a pretty face, and he didn’t have the voice of a guy moving anything super heavy. He wasn’t a gun runner. He wasn’t dealing in people or shit like that. He was just pretty enough to pass drugs, though. Brody would know, after all.
Though, really, the speculation was idle.
Did it matter what this guy had done?
Things would have turned out pretty shitty for him if he’d gotten what he deserved.
No, Brody wasn’t here to pass judgement. That wasn’t the job. The job was to save people.
To save this guy.
But how was Brody going to do the job if he was dead, too?
He looked from the unconscious form back to the guys with the gun, and he forced himself to swallow as his heart thudded in his chest. Brody had come here to save someone, but how was he going to do that if he couldn’t save himself?
“We haven’t got a beef with you,” the other guy said, dragging the limp man toward the edge of the boat. “Unless Smurf is employing lifeguards now.”
Brody made a face. “Smurf? You’re dealing with cartoon characters?”
The gun cocked.
The one pointing at Brody, just for clarification.
That one.
This was so stupid crazy, and it wasn’t even the first time that he’d been in this position. Except this time, Mitch wasn’t here.
Brody blinked rapidly, trying to keep his breathing even while his palms started to sweat.
Mitch wasn’t here.
“Seriously,” Brody said, trying to sound placating. It was the tone he’d heard Mitch use on him, like, a lot. He wondered absently about Mitch again, and that backup he’d talked about. He wondered why he hadn’t waited. “Just let him go, and I promise, I’m not chasing you. I’m a lifeguard; I’m going to save his life. That’s all.”
The guy with the gun sighed. “That’s the one thing I can’t let you do,” he said while his partner hefted the thinner guy onto the edge of the boat, dangling him precariously over the side. “If this guy don’t end up dead, then I ain’t got no message to send. This is your last chance, lifeguard. You don’t have to save everyone. Sometimes, you just have to save yourself.”
Shit.
That was a pretty good ultimatum.
Brody would be smart to take it.
Mitch wouldn’t take it, though.
That wasn’t the job.
All Brody had to do was the job.
The man let go, and the limp figure fell hard and fast to the water. The instant he broke the surface, Brody moved into position, ready to jump in after him. There was a curse; then there was a gunshot.
Then, there was pain.
In shock, Brody looked down at the blood pouring from an open wound on his shoulder. He looked numbly at the body floating face first in the water. He looked up at the men on the boat.
“Your choice, lifeguard,” he said.
And it said it so simple.
Like it was a simple choice.
It was, wasn’t it?
He looked back down at the blood on skin, seeping out between his fingers. It was running down his chest, trickling down his back. His head started to spin -- the pain, the shock, the everything -- and he was struck by the sudden, almost violent realization, that he didn’t want to die.
Not when he finally had a home.
Not when he finally had a family.
For the first time in his life, he had some shred of self respect.
His eyes landed on the figure in the water, still floating, face down.
And if he let that man drown -- that man who had reminded him so much of himself -- then that self respect was gone.
He wouldn’t be worthy of that family.
He wouldn’t belong in that home.
That crazy home.
Those crazy people.
Brody jumped into the water, all thoughts of reason and logic and self preservation be damned.
The choice was made.
And Brody had no regrets.
-o-
Regrets, no.
Some hesitation, yeah.
Hell, yeah.
Because the sketchy dudes with guns?
They also weren’t shitting around.
They had shot Brody once.
And now they were still firing.
The next gunshot rippled in the water; another nicked his leg. Sputtering on the salt water, Brody managed a dive, drawing down as fast as he could in the opposite direction of the victim.
The echo of the gunshots were muffled now, but Brody could see the disturbances in the water as streaks of blood followed him.
Now, in desperation, he dove straight down, hoping like hell that they wouldn’t be able to see him. The ocean was vast and dark; that would work in his favor.
The gunshots grew even more distant. Treading beneath the surface, Brody could see the bullets moving off in a different direction.
They couldn’t see him, then.
That was good.
Brody swallowed, the sound echoing in his ears.
The problem was, of course, that as effective as this hiding place was, it was also going to kill him. He’d taken only a partial breath, and with his adrenaline surging, his lungs were already burning. He actually was really good at holding his breath under most circumstances, but when he was bleeding?
And he was still bleeding. He could see the blood, effusing out into the water, ribbons of red around him. The water would only make the bleeding worse, and he was going to pass out at this rate. Blood loss, lack of oxygen: it didn’t matter. It all ended with him dying instead.
Worse, if he’d been under this long, then what about the other guy? What about the other guy? What about the guy he was supposed to save?
Brody looked up at the surface.
Going up was a risk; it could cost him his life.
Staying under would guarantee his own death -- and the other guy’s.
He closed his eyes, knowing that the tears would be lost in the ocean. There was no point in delaying this. If he was going to do this, he was going to do it.
That was the job, after all.
Brody opened his eyes, letting go of his wounded shoulder as he kicked for the surface.
This was the job.
You had to be crazy to do it.
Then it was a good thing that Brody was a crazy asshole, just like the rest of them.
-o-
It wasn’t that Brody didn’t have doubts. He did, okay? He had a lot of doubts. He would always have doubts. But he could make the choice now. He could overcome them because he wanted to, because he knew a better way.
Because maybe his common sense wasn’t all that great.
With common sense, he’d still be alone.
This crazy-ass shit got him a family.
If it also got him killed in the process, then Brody would deal with that.
First things first, however.
He had to do the job.
And that wasn’t to think about himself.
That was to think about the person drowning in the ocean.
The person he’d come out here to save.
The job.
Breaking the surface, Brody inhaled greedily, but he didn’t use the influx of oxygen to steady himself. Instead, he turned his attention toward orienting himself across the expanse of the ocean, looking for the victim.
He saw the jet ski first, still drifting in the now-choppy waves. He followed the line of sight logically to the guy’s last known location before he’d been thrown unceremoniously overboard.
And there.
He was right there, right where Brody deduced. He’d drifted a ways in the current, but he was still within range.
Still face down.
Spurred on by that fact, Brody started to swim. The movement was painful, to say the least, and he wished adrenaline was enough to make him not feel it. It wasn’t. He felt it, every stroke. He felt it as the life leeched out of him into the ocean. He felt it, tearing into him, seeping away. He felt it and still didn’t stop.
How long had it been?
A matter of minutes, maybe?
It didn’t take that long for someone to bleed to death, he didn’t think.
It was more than enough time for someone to drown, however.
Whoever the hell this guy was, whatever the hell he’d gotten himself into, he was damn lucky Brody was here. He knew a thing about second chances, third chances, all the damn chances, ever. He had to hope he had one more in him.
Just one more.
With several more agonizing strokes, Brody crossed the distance, using his good arm to roll the victim onto his back. With his face pointed up, Brody was in a better position to assess his condition.
It wasn’t great.
His tan skin was sallow, a grayish hue beneath the upper layers. His hair had hints of sun in it, but slicked back against his head, it looked dark and thick. His features were a somewhat delicate, a trait that was only intensified by the hints of blue settling into his lips and eyelids.
He looked like some kind of kid like this. It was weird being a lifeguard, seeing people at their most vulnerable. When Brody came to the rescue, everyone looked the same. No matter their age, no matter the gender, no matter their size. No matter who they were or what they’d done. They were all helpless in their own ways.
The ocean could be an equalizer in this way.
Brody knew that from experience.
It was hard being on the other side of that equation.
This side? Playing the hero?
That wasn’t easy, either.
He wondered if Mitch had felt this way when he dragged Brody out of a cage at the bottom of the ocean. That it didn’t matter that Brody was a stupid bastard; no one deserved to die like that.
No Brody.
And not this guy, whatever his story might be.
Without checking, Brody knew that the guy wasn’t breathing. Leaning over, he pinched off the guy’s nose, craning his body uncomfortably to deliver two rescue breaths. That was standard procedure, after all. That was the first step to saving a life.
He watched as the guy’s chest rose and feel, and he reached up, pressing two fingers into the pale skin at his neck. Nothing.
Brody frowned, pressing his fingers a little deeper and trying to force himself to concentrate even more. He knew a lot of people thought he had the attention span of a flea, but you didn’t win a gold medal because you didn’t know how to concentrate. You won because you knew when to put it all on the line, when to ignore your body, ignore common sense, put your head down and win.
He wasn’t going for gold anymore.
Saving this guy’s life: that was the higher calling.
Still nothing.
Brody had waited too long.
His own throat constricted, Brody repositioned himself, giving the guy two more rescue breaths. Without his heart circulating the blood, it was sort of a futile gesture, but shot and five miles off the shore with a drowning victim that needed active resuscitation -- well, futile gestures were about all Brody had.
After all, things weren’t all bad.
He was still conscious, after all.
And, like, he had a jet ski.
Plus, the dudes in the boat had gone away.
Brody breathed for the victim again, pushing the air painfully through his own suddenly sluggish lungs.
Mitch had probably thought helping him out had been futile. That early training, when Brody had suggested cell phones and brought donuts -- shit, all of that had to have been futile. But it’d worked out. Mitch had made it work.
Brody wasn’t Mitch, but there was still one other factor working in his favor.
Brody also wasn’t alone.
Which meant this guy, whoever he was, wasn’t alone either.
All they had to do was hang on.
Because Mitch would come.
Brody forced two more breaths into the guy’s lungs, watching as his chest rose and fell. The color was deepening on his face, his skin growing even more pallid. Brody pressed close with two more rescue breaths, blinking through his own fading vision.
It was crazy, this whole thing.
Getting shot.
Saving lives.
Doing the job.
The craziest shit ever.
He caught himself as his head bobbed down toward the water, and he startled back awake long enough to give two more breaths while the smell of his own blood was washed into the salty waves.
Crazy.
He remembered to breathe for the victim again, eyes blurring as he looked up again. He blinked; he blinked again.
How much time had passed?
Looking down, he tried to assess the victim, but it was hard to make his eyes focus.
Hard to think.
Crazy.
He had to finish this, though. He had to finish the job.
His uncoordinated fingers found no purchase this time and he felt his heartbeat stagger in his chest.
Too bad maybe the job had finished him instead.
There was a disturbance on the water, and Brody thought for a moment maybe all the blood had attracted sharks or, you know, something else horrible had happened. But it was a boat.
Craning his neck, he tried to find it, but he couldn’t see anything until the bobbing vehicle speeding toward him was much closer. If it was the bad guys, then he was screwed. He looked down at the guy, the one he’d come out there to save, and wanted to apologize. There wasn’t going to be a second chance.
Or a third chance.
Or, you know, any chances.
The words wouldn’t form in his throat and he closed his eyes.
The waves crested over him as the boat killed its engine, and Brody was so numb that he was pretty sure he wouldn’t feel a second gunshot when it split his skin. That was some consolation at least.
Shit, this job was making him a lot more crazy than he thought.
There wasn’t a gunshot, though.
There was just some guy, calling his name.
Brody startled back to himself and looked up.
The boat was right next to him now, but it wasn’t some random boat. It was yellow. Like, Baywatch yellow.
And there wasn’t some shady dude in it looking to kill him.
It was Mitch.
Oh shit, it was Mitch.
Brody could screw up the job, sure.
But at least he couldn’t screw up family just yet.
-o-
And Mitch had a plan.
Brody had come to love that about Mitch.
He always had a plan.
They were crazy plan, they were stupid plans, they were impossible plans.
But they were plans.
And, more often than not, they involved people not dying.
Brody could go for that right now.
Like, seriously.
He was about two seconds away from possibly dying, so the idea of not dying sounded pretty damn good.
But first things first.
“You need to take him,” Brody panted, treading water weakly as he pulled closer to the side of the boat. “He doesn’t have a pulse. Don’t know how long.”
Mitch didn’t require much additional explanation. Mitch had been doing this job a lot longer than Brody had; he knew his shit. He knew what to do with a victim.
With long arms, Mitch reached down, snagging the guy underneath the armpits. Brody did what he could to help safely maneuver the guy, keeping his head clear from the side of the boat, but it was Mitch who heaved him up, allowing the limp form to clear the side of the boat as he lowered him gently to the other side out of Brody’s line of sight.
Then, Mitch reached back over the side, a hand outstretched to Brody.
Brody stared at it, confused.
“You have to get him breathing!” Brody said back. “I kind -- I lost track of time--”
Mitch’s hand didn’t waver. “You’re bleeding, man. I got to get you out of the water.”
“That’s just the gunshot wound--”
“The what?” Mitch asked, sounding incredulous.
“The victim, Mitch!” Brody said, drawing on the last of his energy reserves. “You have to do the job!”
Mitch’s face contorted. Confusion. Worry. Something more. “Brody--”
Brody inhaled as deeply as he could, putting what he could for his last stand.
Metaphorically speaking.
He wasn’t standing right now.
But whatever.
“Please,” Brody said. “Do the job.”
Face tightening, Mitch’s expression hardened as he pulled his hand away. He afforded Brody one last look as he turned back over the edge of his boat, disappearing from Brody’s line of sight as he went to his hands and knees. Over the sound of the waves, Brody could hear the distant sounds of Mitch doing CPR.
Doing the job.
Brody couldn’t feel his legs anymore; he wasn’t sure if he was moving. The red was diffuse in the water around him, spreading and spreading and spreading.
This was a crazy job, when you got right down to it.
Who would have thought? Matt Brody could be a hero.
All part of the job.
Brody eased back until he was floating on the surface of the water, eyes fixed up on the sky above him.
Integrity?
Still crazy to Brody, but that was okay.
His eyes started to close as he drifted, drifted and drifted away.
All the best things in life were crazy, after all.
PART TWO
What the hell had Brody been thinking?
Seriously.
What.
The.
Hell.
Running off without backup?
Taking off without telling anyone his plan?
Putting the job first, even above his own safety?
Acting without a lick of common sense?
What the hell had he been thinking?
Within seconds, Mitch confirmed Brody’s assessment. The guy wasn’t breathing; he didn’t have a heartbeat. And it looked like he had needed CPR about three minutes ago. It might have been too long already, but it wasn’t in Mitch’s nature not to try.
Gritting his teeth, Mitch started compressions, hard, even movements, precisely calibrated over years of practice. Thirty compressions, two breaths. The body beneath him was still and cold. This guy was probably a lost cause.
Mitch swallowed back the thought. This lost cause was one Brody had risked everything to save. Besides, Mitch apparently had a thing for lost causes.
If only the ones he saved would stop going and trying to get themselves killed.
Again.
With a growl, Mitch finished a second set of compressions, wondering if this guy had friends. If he had family. If he had someone who loved him, who wanted to protect him but didn’t know how. If there was someone out there who would miss him, who would chew him out for being such a dumb asshole so as to end up here.
Finishing two more breaths, Mitch knew he wasn’t actually thinking about this guy, this unfortunate idiot who needed to be saved.
No, Mitch was thinking about his unfortunate idiot who needed to be saved.
But Brody was right: this was the job.
They put others first.
They had to put others first.
That had never been a problem for Mitch. He was fine with his own life being possibly forfeit.
But Brody’s?
Mitch grunted as he started chest compressions again.
Why did it have to be Brody’s?
Brody was supposed to be the reluctant hero. He was supposed to be the one who screwed up and slacked off. Mitch was supposed to cajole him into doing the right thing.
But this time, Brody had charged off, headlong into the unknown without a second thought. He hadn’t waited to clear it. He hadn’t waited for backup. He’d gone out and done the job.
Just like Mitch had taught it.
Damn it, damn it, damn it.
The ribs beneath him cracked, but Mitch didn’t slow down, he didn’t ease up.
With almost vicious precision, he pinched off the nose on the pale face below him and pushed in two more breaths with such a ferocity that his own chest hurt.
He could feel the starting tug of exhaustion, pulling at him when he started up the chest compressions again. How long had it been? Brody hadn’t known; Mitch was losing track. He was supposed to be better than this. Usually he had it down. He knew how many sets of compressions, how many breaths to try before it was too late.
The guy lying on the deck was still lifeless.
He looked dead.
Wet hair swept back, features pale, body slack.
Mitch could quit now and that would be that.
His eyes burned.
The job.
Brody had insisted that they finished the job.
Mitch started in again, compressing the chest beneath him faster, stronger than ever. Brody sounded so damn sincere when he talked about saving a life anymore. He sounded so completely undaunted when he told Mitch to do what had to be done -- for the job.
It sounded crazy.
It sounded absolutely, batshit crazy.
Did Mitch sound this crazy when he talked about the job?
When had Brody stopped calling him on it?
When had Brody started sounding just like him?
Damn it, Brody.
Why had Mitch let this get so far out of control?
He breathed for the guy two more times, and he wasn’t sure if he was talking about himself or Brody anymore.
Or, really, if the distinction mattered.
There was a mutuality between them now, one they hadn’t thought to acknowledge but had both taken for granted that it was insane that Mitch hadn’t realized it until now.
Until they were five miles out from shore with a dead guy between them.
Not a dead guy.
Not if Mitch could finish the job that Brody started.
That Mitch had started.
That they had to finish.
Together.
Five compressions in, the body beneath him jerked. Mitch did another compression before he realized that the dead guy wasn’t actually dead anymore. He convulse, spluttering on water as it choked him. Numbly, Mitch pulled back, helping roll the guy onto his side. The guy -- younger, blondish, tan, lithely built -- coughed, retching on sea water.
Alive.
Mitch had done it.
Brody had done it.
They had done it.
Mitch dropped his head, closing his eyes in relief, allowing himself this one moment of reprieve, of solace of a job well done.
Except the job wasn’t done.
Mitch opened his eyes, scrambling to his feet.
This was a joint effort, three people. But there were only two people on the boat now.
“Brody!” he yelled over the side. “Brody, talk to me!”
But Brody wasn’t where he left him, close to the side of the boat. Mitch’s heart skipped a beat, his stomach clenched. Eyes darting out, he saw Brody, floating on his back, eyes closed as he drifted out into the water.
“Brody!”
This was a crazy ass job, Brody was right about that.
But Mitch did it better than anyone.
With one more glance, he confirmed that the victim was starting still breathing, coughing up water.
Then, he girded himself, climbed on the edge of the boat, and jumped in.
-o-
Cutting through the water, Mitch swam as fast as he could and he cleared the distance to Brody within seconds. As fast as he was, Mitch wondered why he hadn’t been faster.
Why had he taken so long to confirm the location of the call?
Why had it taken him so long to inform others of the destination?
Why had he taken so long to get to the damn boat?
All these common sense procedures had slowed him down by minutes, and here he was, minutes too late to prevent tragedy.
The victim was alive at least.
Mitch pulled up to Brody, treading water next to him to assess his condition.
What the hell had happened in those minutes?
A drowning, sure.
But a gunshot?
Sure, it happened to Mitch.
But that was the thing. It happened to Mitch. He was there; he was the one playing point. This whole backup thing?
Well, shit, no wonder it used to stress Brody out so much.
It sucked.
“Brody,” he said, giving the floating figure a small shake as he pulled on Brody’s arm to bring him closer as the waves buffeted against them both. “Brody, hey.”
Brody didn’t reply. In the fullness of the sun, his complexion wasn’t as bad as the guy back on the boat -- but that didn’t make it good. He was pale and still.
Worse, the wound was still bleeding through his swim shirt, leaving a trail of bloody water behind him.
“Brody,” he said again, reaching up one hand to tap his cheek. “Come on, buddy.”
Brody had proven to be a quick learner under Mitch’s guidance; if anything, over the last year, he’d come to be almost too quick to please. So it was something that he didn’t comply with Mitch’s request not.
Not even the faintest of twitches.
Pursing his lips, Mitch knew what that meant. He knew about blood loss and how the water hastened the process. He knew what shock looked like, and he knew how fast you had to act to turn that shit around. He knew that Brody was dying.
Unless Mitch did something about it.
Of course MItch was going to do something about it.
“Come on,” he muttered, maneuvering his way under Brody’s body and wrapping an arm around his chest. “We’re getting out of here.”
Brody didn’t argue.
For once, that didn’t particularly make things any easier.
-o-
It was a chore getting Brody back on the boat, but fortunately, Mitch was huge and Brody was tiny. Also, under pressure, Mitch could do just about anything, so hauling Brody’s limp body out of the water wasn’t as hard as it might have seemed.
Hastily, he deposited Brody on the deck next to the victim. The victim was looking marginally more alert now. Which was to say he was awake. He looked confused as Mitch laid out Brody next to him, but he had the good sense to focus on his own ragged breathing rather than to ask Mitch any questions.
This was a lifeguard vessel, which meant there were ample supplies on board. All the same, Mitch knew as he opened up the first aid kit that this was something he could fix with gauze and band aids.
In fact, what Brody needed was direct pressure on the wound. However, he also needed to get back to the mainland for proper medical treatment at a hospital. The bad news was that Mitch was only one guy. He couldn’t do both.
Quickly wrapping the wound with as much gauze as he could, he looked over at the other guy. He had almost caught his breath by now, though he still looked pale and shellshocked. Whether it was the bleeding lifeguard or the reality of almost drowning, Mitch didn’t know. He didn’t give a shit.
All he knew was that they had saved this guy’s life -- Mitch and Brody together. Mitch usually didn’t ask victims to repay the favor, but this time he was willing to make an exception.
That was what Brody was, after all.
An exception to all of Mitch’s rules.
“Can you sit up?” Mitch asked sharply.
“What?” the guy asked, voice sounding hoarse. He sat up a little more, wincing and rubbing his chest.
“Can you sit up? Can you help?” Mitch asked, pressing the questions in rapid succession.
“I, uh, um--”
Mitch knew that near death experiences were overwhelming, and he tended to be good at showing compassion even when it was the victim’s own damn fault. Mitch couldn’t say for sure what this guy’s story was, but it was a story that wasn’t over. Mitch needed to take measures to be sure that the same was true for Brody.
“He’s bleeding, and I need you to apply pressure,” Mitch instructed, forgoing other formalities. He reached over, taking the guy’s hand and guiding it toward Brody. Scrambling, the guy complied, finding his knees on the deck next to the streaks of watery blood around Brody. Mitch pressed his hand down to the bandage. “Just like this, as hard as you can.”
The guy was trembling a little, and he looked up at Mitch with wide blue eyes. They were darker than Brody’s but no less bright. He had freckles across his cheeks and on the bridge of his nose. He looked like a surfer; Mitch knew the type. More comfortable on the waves than on dry land, but he looked positively out of his element here. Maybe that was because he’d almost died on the waves, but maybe it was because he wasn’t used to being the hero.
Maybe it was because Mitch always talked crazy and it took some time to get used to it.
A year, apparently.
Shit.
“Can you do this?” Mitch demanded.
Drawing a shaky breath, the guy nodded. “Yeah,” he said. He sat forward a little more, pressing down harder, putting more direct pressure on the bullet wound in Brody’s shoulder. “I think I can.”
“Good,” Mitch said. “What’s your name?”
“Adrian,” the guy replied. “My name’s Adrian.”
“Good to meet you Adrian, I’m Mitch,” he said. “And the guy whose life you’re going to save is Brody. Got it?”
Adrian nodded again with more confidence this time around. “Got it.”
“He’s he one who saved your ass, by the way,” Mitch said as he turned toward the helm. “So don’t let him down.”
It wasn’t exactly intended as a threat. The growl in his voice was emotion; the terseness was adrenaline.
But what the hell.
Mitch wasn’t about to correct the guy if he thought it was.
-o-
Despite the advanced navigation system on board, Mitch relied solely on his instinct. This was still his bay, after all. He knew it like the back of his hand. He didn’t need GPS to tell him how to get back to the mainland.
Safety regulations dictated a maximum speed. Mitch knew this; he had helped set those safety regulations.
They seemed woefully inappropriate now, and Mitch didn’t care if it was reckless, he didn’t care if it was crazy. He went faster.
He glanced at Brody and the pool of blood starting to grow beneath him despite Adrian’s continued efforts.
And he went faster still.
-o-
By the time they were approaching the shore, Mitch could see the emergency vehicles lined up along the sand. He’d taken time to radio in, yelling out updates over the frenetic sound of the wind and waves as the boat whipped through the water. It was enough to let them know they had two confirmed victims now, one drowning and one gunshot. The paramedics would be ready.
He didn’t have time to explain to Stephanie that the other victim was Brody.
Or maybe he just didn’t have the words.
Because how the hell was he supposed to say that Brody had been shot?
It was too crazy; he wouldn’t believed it. Shit, he hardly believed it now and he’d dragged Brody’s cold body out of the water leaking blood everywhere.
Adrian, still on his knees next to Brody on the deck, didn’t seem to notice that they were approaching the shore. In fact, he didn’t seem to realize anything until Mitch had pulled the boat almost to a standstill in the shallows.
Killing the engine, Mitch waved to the paramedics before crossing over toward Brody and Adrian. He was on his knees on Brody’s other side, gently nudging Adrian’s hands out of the way as he applied pressure on his own. As the other man sat back, his adrenaline seemed to flag again, but Mitch didn’t have time to play nursemaid.
No, not with the job to be done.
The first pair of medics had climbed on board, looking between the three occupants. “What do we have?”
Mitch adjusted his grip, trying not to notice how much paler Brody looked now. He should have checked his breathing again; but then, he should have done a lot of things. “Got a call five miles out,” Mitch reported. He nodded toward Adrian. “One victim was rescued and resuscitated.”
One of the medics sat down next to Adrian with some concern. The other crossed closer to Mitch, looking down at Brody. “And how the hell did you end up with a GSW?”
“I wasn’t there,” Mitch said. “You’ll want to ask him.”
They all looked at Adrian this time, who went colorless once more with the attention. “I was, um. Attacked,” Adrian said. He appeared to be choosing his words carefully. “I didn’t get a good look at them. When the lifeguard showed up, they just started shooting.”
That was probably some variation of the truth. Some simplified version that conveniently left out the hows and whys. No doubt, Adrian knew the guys. No doubt, Adrian knew why they’d taken him that far out. No doubt, Adrian knew a lot more than he was telling.
Shock, though. It was a valid reason.
Also, the details didn’t matter now.
Not when Brody still needed a hospital.
“It passed through the shoulder,” Mitch continued, directing the medic’s attention back toward Brody. “He was in the water for a few minutes, which didn’t help.”
“We’ll take care of it from here,” the medic said with a note of assurance. He smiled at Mitch. “You can count on that.”
Mitch tried to smile back, but he couldn’t quite make himself do it.
Because Mitch counted on Baywatch.
Mitch counted on Brody.
Just like Brody counted on him.
They counted on family.
And that hadn’t exactly turned out so well for them today.
-o-
It was a bit of a fiasco.
Emergency vehicles always drew a crowd, and when word got out that Brody was one of the victims, then half the lifeguards in the bay were on call. That wasn’t protocol by any stretch of the imagination, but lifeguards were human. More than that, they were family. Of course they were going to come.
Summer, who had gleaned as much as she could from Stephanie, took the ambulance with Brody, who was deemed stable enough to transport. Mitch, finding himself uncomfortably left behind, diverted questions from the crew, circumvented Ellerbee altogether, and instead agreed to accompany Adrian to the hospital.
That wasn’t what he normally did. Normally, Mitch would be ready to get back to business once a victim was handed off.
But he didn’t want to answer questions. He couldn’t even answer questions.
Besides, he was going to be there for Brody.
This was how you played backup.
Brody hadn’t waited for him before.
He sure as hell hoped Brody would wait this time.