Title: Drifting (1/6)

Rating: PG-13 -slash, swearing

Author: Heath07

Summary: A post-finale fic. Slash.

Disclaimer: Everything is owned by FOX and Josh.

Feedback: Yes, please.

Notes: Just a post-finale fic.

The salt water burned his eyes and throat as he choked and struggled to remain buoyant. Drowning hadn't been on his agenda today, but it was better than having to sit across from the only person he'd ever wanted acceptance from while he stared back with hate in his eyes. Why hadn't he been wearing his life jacket? At least then he wouldn't have had to work so hard to keep his head above water.

"Give me your hand," Ryan demanded.

Seth shook his head, water dripping into his eyes but he refused to blink them away. "I'd rather get eaten by a big fat shark and then have my bones gnawed on by seagulls."

"Stop being so fucking stubborn and take my damn hand. You're going to drown."

Seth continued to tread water, ignoring Ryan's concerned gaze. "You'd like that wouldn't you?"

Ryan sighed, shoving his hand at Seth. "No, now give me your hand."

"Are you sure you want to touch me? you might catch queer."

"Seth."

"Ryan," he mocked, taking in more water and sputtering like one of those giant fountains the Greek family down the block had on their lawn. Tacky little thing, that was.

Ryan sat back, something like amusement dancing in his eyes. "How much longer do you think you're going to last? Aren't you getting tired?"

"I feel fine. In fact, I think I could swim back to Newport and back and not break a sweat." Clearly, that was a lie. It was killing him just to stay afloat, but he wasn't going to give Ryan the satisfaction of knowing that. Dropping out of swim class when he was five because everyone kept calling him Super Speedo Seth was coming back to haunt him. It wasn't his fault his mother had made him wear a damn red Speedo...running around and flexing his non-muscles like he was tough shit? that was all him. What was so bad about that nickname anyway? Compared to some of the things he'd been called since then, it was rather endearing.

"Uh-huh. Well, what about your hand?"

"What about it? It doesn't hurt." Seth flexed it to prove a point. Little droplets of blood formed, dropped into the water and dissolved into the ocean.

"You're bleeding. There's probably ten, maybe twenty, of those sharks being drawn this way by the scent of your blood." His lips curved just slightly, enough to look smug.

"It's barely a scratch." Okay, so maybe Ryan had a point there. How good were sharks' sense of smell anyway?

"Is there anything you want me to tell your mom or dad when I bring them back your skeleton?" He was full-on teasing now.

"Funny. You're a regular comedian, you know that?"

And then when Seth didn't think it could get any worse, Ryan started fucking humming the Jaws theme song. He was one sick bastard when he wanted to be. Still, it was working and he knew it. Damn.

Seth swallowed his pride along with a mouthful of seawater. "The water is starting to get a little chilly and I have started to develop this incredible pain in my right calf..."

"Come on," Ryan urged, holding out his hand once again.

Seth hesitated. "I'm only taking your help because I'm delicate and I don't respond well to pain, not because I want to."

"Fair enough."

Ryan used all of upper body strength to pull Seth out of the water. He strained and grunted and Seth tried not to notice the way his muscles bulged with every tug. The veins in his neck pulsed with blood and it looked like little bugs crawling inside. It was distracting and that's what Seth needed.

Finally secure on the canvas on the boat they both laid back, panting hard.

Nine hours on a boat, enduring choppy waves and sweltering heat, should have been enough time to decide it was a stupid idea not to bring any food or water on a trip that was dependant on the navigation of a cheap plastic compass, right? But who had time for food and water when fleeing one's life and certain realizations that just wouldn't go back to being buried? The first few minutes had been easy. He hadn't been worried about anything because the adrenaline pumping through his system had numbed his reasoning skills. But by the tenth hour any adrenaline Seth had left was being used to steer the Summer breeze toward the very inviting-looking stretch of shore he saw up ahead.

So he didn't make it to Tahiti. So what? it wasn't like he expected to get there in the first place.

Instead, he'd steered the boat miles down the coast. When the sting of the sun and the scratch of his dry throat became too much to bear, he let the wind drift him along because his arms were too tired and his hands were too blistered for him to give a damn anymore. He was miserable and looked it. At least no one was there to see him pout.

He wondered if his Mom had gotten the note yet. If Summer had read hers or threw it away like he had, inevitably, done to their relationship. He knew it was a mistake to leave, but he couldn't bare to be in the house without Ryan. And all he could see when he closed his eyes were Ryan's tears and a damn map of Tahiti Ryan had kept even though Ryan wasn't one to get sentimental. Seth knew it meant something. Something big. And he couldn't quite pin down what it meant when Ryan handed it back. Was it Ryan's way of saying that they couldn't be friends anymore? Was he giving Seth back his non-life? Thanks, but no thanks? Seth was sick of thinking about it and he'd gotten sick, literally, ten minutes after Ryan had been gone and Seth realized, panicked, that he couldn't take anything back. That, his selfish, only child, severely emotionally-inept attitude had reared its ugly head and that nothing could make that moment disappear; that Ryan would always remember that as their good-bye.

Seth wasn't prepared for the clouds that took over the sky and the rain that beat down against him. California rarely had storms, or rain for that matter, but it looked like Armageddon had swept in and called Seth out. Thunder roared in the distance and lightning danced along the water. Seth sucked in a breath, grabbed a rope and held on for dear life as waves licked his skin and the current pushed him along the bowels of the ocean.

It was long after the rain had started and the storm had died down that Seth finally used the last of his reserves to make it to shore. After pulling the boat onto the sand, Seth was drained and apart from the wetness, the sand looked soft and inviting. He hadn't intended to drop right there, but his eyes felt so heavy and his legs wouldn't cooperate, it was like he was on that medication the dentist had given him after he'd gotten his wisdom teeth pulled, and nothing seemed as urgent as the lure of sleep. Not the need for sustenance Not the need for shelter or dry clothes. Just sleep.