G Callen doesn't do regrets. His scorched-earth approach to life doesn't allow for them.
But right now, as the water slops over his chin and the strength ebbs from his limbs, he feels a genuine sense of what can only be described as regret.
Regret that he didn't tell Sam how he felt.
Even now, imagining himself confessing his deepest longings feels so out of his comfort zone that G amends his regret.
He regrets that he didn't grab Sam and kiss the daylights out of him.
It would have been worth the punch in the face, or the kindly rejection, just for that one glorious moment.
And now G's convinced he's hallucinating, because he swears he can see Sam descending down the side of the ship like...well, like Batman.
Then suddenly Sam is right there, treading water and glaring at him. "Didn't anyone ever tell you to look before you leap?"
"Once or twice," G sputters.
But Sam's not really listening. He's fastening the rescue harness around the injured sailor. "How is he?"
"Unconscious, but he's alive," G responds. Sam's brisk tone immediately snaps him from blind terror into ops-mode.
Sam finishes securing the harness, pillowing the sailor's head gently against his chest. The sudden release of weight gives G strength, and he manages to get the buoy around him. He wants to weep with gratitude for the relief to his muscles.
"I'll be right back," Sam says. "Don't go anywhere."
"Really?" G's quite proud of his smart-ass tone, despite the fact that his teeth are chattering. "Because I thought I might swim to C-c-c-c-cuba and assassinate C-c-c-c-castro."
Sam looks at him, dark eyes intense. "I mean it. I'll come back for you."
G feels a shiver that has nothing to do with the cold water. He gives a nod that he hopes conveys what he's feeling.
Sam gives two strong tugs on the cable. As he does, a fin cruises past his shoulder.
G gives a shout of warning that comes out more like a bleat of terror. Sam looks at him, and G points.
Sam glances at the circling fins. "They're just babies."
"Babies?" G hears his voice break again.
"They're just curious. They won't hurt you." To G's horror, the cable retracts, pulling Sam and the sailor upward. "Relax."
"Give me your knife," G calls up at him. He'd lost the Sig on impact, and he's pretty sure his ankle holster went the way of his boots, taking his knife with it. He's not wearing a wrist blade, so that just leaves his garrote, and what good is that against a circling pod of Great Whites?
"If they get too close, just bop them on the nose," Sam calls back as he ascends.
"Bop them on the nose?" G's voice raises in outrage. "Are you crazy?" But Sam is gone, leaving him to face the hungry horde alone.
"Bop them on the nose," G mutters to himself. "Just bop them on the nose." He reassures himself that the sharks were attracted to the blood from the sailor's injury. Now that he's gone, they'll lose interest.
Only there's still blood in the water and probably on G's clothes and they can still smell it, if sharks can even smell. He tries to remember if they can - to his growing list of regrets, he adds not paying attention in science class - then tries to remember the differences between Atlantic sharks such as these and the Pacific kind he's seen in LA. But it seems all he can picture are a bunch of one-armed surfers, and all he can hear is Robert Shaw intoning, "Eleven hundred men went into the water, three hundred come out...the shark took the rest."
Sharks really do have doll eyes, G thinks numbly as one slides by, turning its body to reveal the black orbs. It turns again, circling, and G realizes it's about to charge. He clenches his fist, which suddenly seems very tiny, and pulls back his arm.
He'll only get one shot at this, he thinks as the shark begins to move toward him, water curling in its wake. Just one punch, and he'll have to time it exactly right. Too soon, and he'll miss. Too late, and...God help him.
"Wait for it," G tells himself, wishing desperately that his body wasn't shaking so hard. The shark is six feet away.
Then three.
"Wait for it..."
G can see the eyes now. It's almost on top of him. He pulls back his arm and—
From out of nowhere, a hefty fist thumps the shark squarely in the nose. It thrashes in annoyance, then swims away.
"Told you they wouldn't bother you," says Sam's voice in his ear.
"Jesus," G whimpers. "What t-t-t-t-took you so long?"
"Got here as soon as I could," Sam says apologetically but calmly, like he got caught in traffic. He secures the rescue harness around G.
"Put your arms around my neck," he orders.
G wants to say something smart-ass, like "I thought you'd never ask." Instead, he just throws his arms around Sam and clings to him like a limpet. As they're rising toward the ship (G has his eyes squeezed shut the entire time) he reflects that being in Sam's strong arms feels just as good as he imagined. He just wishes it were under vastly different circumstances.
Then they're thumping against the rail, and half a dozen hands reach for them, pulling them over, until he feels the blessedly solid surface of the deck beneath them. G has the sudden, overwhelming urge to get as far away from the side of the ship as he can. His strength surges and he fights against the harness, against the restraining hands.
"Easy," he hears Sam say, his voice deep and reassuring.
Suddenly, he's free. G breaks away, falls to the deck on his hands and knees, and vomits seawater for what feels like an hour. Tears stream from his eyes and snot from his nose. When the heaves subside, he collapses, pressing his face to the metal deck, trying not to sob. He feels a gentle hand on his back and knows it's Sam.
"Easy," he says. "I got you."
The feeling of safety returns. For the first time in his life, G stops fighting and lets himself trust. And when darkness comes, he slides into it with relief, knowing that Sam has his back.
