Disclaimer haiku: I wouldn't jump off/ A bridge if you paid me, but/ It looks like big fun.

Note: I love West Virginia. I've spent roughly the last four years trying to figure out a way to write a fic set in the state, and now I have, so hurrah! I've never been to a Bridge Day, alas, but I have been to the bridge itself. Plus my new life goal is to go to Bridge Day 2004. If I do, expect a revised version of this fic. :)

This fic also happens to be set after the third season, wherein - as you might recall - Max and friends became professional extreme athletes.

Finally, this story is dedicated to my WV relatives, who graciously provided first-hand accounts of certain story aspects, and the WVU Mountaineers, whose football team continues to inspire my devotion despite their overall lack of winning. Go 'Eers!

For the benefit of his friends, Berto read the most alarming part aloud: " 'The rapids are imposing and forceful, many of them obstructed by large boulders which necessitate maneuvering in very powerful currents, crosscurrents, and hydraulics. Some rapids contain hazardous undercut rocks. Although the gradient is a modest twenty feet per mile, the rapids are of the full-grown West Virginia variety: big, brawny, and bodacious!' "

He looked up from his laptop only to see that neither of them were fazed. Nor were they stopping in their activities - namely, preparing their kayaks for their imminent launch on the New River. He was not going with them, partly because he had no desire to drown in a freezing mountain river, and partly because someone had to man N-Tek's booth at the Bridge Day trade show.

Berto had already pointed out that a two-person expedition was almost as stupid as going solo, but they had made up their minds. Moments like this reinforced his opinion that he was the only member of Team Steel with any common sense whatsoever.

"Now, that's what I'm talking about," Kat said, busy strapping something inside her kayak. "It's just too bad Gauley Season is over. Those Class V rapids are supposed to be primo."

Gauley Season was an annual event - twenty days of controlled flooding of the Gauley River as the Summersville Reservoir was drawn down to accommodate snowmelt. In those twenty days, the river went from being so-so to being one of the most challenging whitewater runs in the world.

Team Steel had missed it by barely a week, for which Berto was eternally grateful.

At Kat's announcement, Josh did pause. He rested his hands on the table covered with their gear and said, slightly patronizing, "Bro, we're sticking to the middle stretch. Those rapids only get up to Class III. Baby stuff. And if it starts looking ugly, we'll get out and walk around. I don't know about Kat, but I don't really want to be limping into Bridge Day."

Kat gave Berto a grin and a wink. "Yeah, who wants to jump off a bridge with a broken leg?"

"Exactly." Josh went back to getting ready.

"Who wants to jump off a bridge in the first place?" Berto asked, shutting his computer. The question was entirely rhetorical, since the answer was as painfully obvious as the glassy water a stone's throw away.

Both Josh and Kat raised their hands, and then Josh asked, "Wait - with or without a parachute?"

"Not funny, hermano." Berto adjusted his glasses, fully aware that he was preaching to the wrong crowd; some things just had to be said. "But think about it: In two days, four hundred people are going to jump off of a perfectly good bridge. Just like skydivers jump out of perfectly good airplanes. Why?"

"Because," Kat said, straightening and wiping her hands off on her jeans. "It's there."

"Sounds right to me," Josh said cheerfully. "You ready, Ryan?"

Kat was already going inside the van. "Just gotta change."

"Don't take forever," Josh called after her. He was already wearing a wetsuit, backpack and safety gear - had been since before they'd left Fayetteville for their put-in a few miles north of Hinton.

Berto just sighed. It was a lost cause. His friends were always going to do needlessly dangerous things, and he was always going to be on the sidelines or hanging as far back from the action as possible. It had bothered him for a long time - there was a lot of insecurity when you were the odd man out - but eventually, he'd gotten over it. Not everyone was a secret-agent-turned- extreme-athlete. Some people were geniuses-turned-secret-agents-turned-team-managers. That was cool too.

Josh picked up his kayak, lugging it towards the river even as he asked Berto, "This is really bugging you, isn't it?"

Berto met the question with a question. "Do you know what the local Native Americans called this river?"

Josh shook his head.

He'd gotten the trivia off of another website, and he'd been saving it for a last-ditch bout of reasoning. Since that wouldn't work, he might as well use it now. " 'The River of Death.' "

Josh set the kayak down in the gravel at the water's edge and said, "As long as it's not 'The River of Former Dread Minions,' I think we'll be okay."

"Oh, the worst-case scenario. Reassuring."

"Luckily, this isn't exactly Psycho's usual hunting ground. Or Vitriol's. Biocon, maybe." Josh trudged back to the van. "But I could take 'em."

"Just remember that the portable transphasic regenerator isn't making the trip with you," Berto warned. It was possibly the most precious item of hardware they had, and he had adamantly refused to send it on a whitewater trip. If it was destroyed, he wasn't sure he could build another one fast enough - or at all. He didn't have N-Tek's spy budget anymore. "And I won't be able to watch the biolink 24/7."

Josh didn't seem nearly as concerned about it as he should have been. He waved Berto off and banged on the van's door. "Kat! We're burning daylight!"

"Daylight" was an optimistic way to put it. The sun had just begun to creep over the mountains, and the mountains, being part of the Appalachian chain and therefore among the oldest and most eroded in the world, weren't exactly towering.

Her response was muffled but decidedly annoyed: "Hold ON!"

She emerged a second later, kicking the door open and practically knocking Josh down. "Jeez! Have you tried to put on a full-body wetsuit in under a minute?"

"No," Josh said. He grabbed a few more things from inside the van, food included, and headed for the water. "Bro, clean up at the trade show for us."

"And save us a spot on the bridge," Kat added, following him and tugging on her lifejacket and helmet as she went. They were both in the river before Berto could do anything more than say goodbye and good luck.

He watched them go, steering their respective crafts with confident expertise.

Two days, a few dozen miles, Class III rapids, rock-climbing, potential life-or-death situations if one of the bad guys showed... which they did with alarming frequency. And then, if Josh and Kat made it back intact, they'd immediately jump 876 feet, straight down, from the New River Gorge Bridge.

"I'm the only one with common sense," Berto said to the empty West Virginian air, and went back to the van.