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This job is not worth this mess. James is used to small-time gangs and the LSPD gunning for them, so having the FIB on their asses is a new experience he would very much like to not repeat ever.
If they live through this one first.
“What are you doing?” James demands when Aleks pulls their car over to the side of the road.
“It’s leaking too much gas, dude. We’re not gonna get far in it.” Aleks shoves his door open, getting out of the car, and James scrambles after him, cursing under his breath.
“We’re gonna get shot, you fucker,” he grumbles, but Aleks ignores him, heading towards the edge of the bridge.
He looks down, tilting his head, furrowing his eyebrows in concentration, and James’ stomach clenches with nerves. He knows that look, they’re about to do something stupid, and James knows exactly what Aleks is planning.
Aleks turns back to James and says, “Come here.”
“No. Nope. No.”
“Come here, dude!”
“If you think I’m going anywhere near that bridge..!”
“Dude, the water is deep enough that we won’t die. Probably.”
“Probably?!” James’ voice goes up several octaves but he doesn’t care; he’s not jumping off a bridge. He’ll risk prison before taking a header into the ocean.
Aleks sighs impatiently, moving back towards James. He grabs his wrist, ignoring his angry protests, and drags him towards the bridge. James struggles to break free, digging his feet into the ground, but Aleks is persistent and soon they’re standing next to the bridge.
“Dude, I need you to trust me.”
“No.” James vehemently shakes his head, eyes squeezed shut.
“Seriously, we have probably five minutes before the fucking FIB tracks us down. Trust me.”
“Fuck off.”
“Fine.”
With a forceful shove, Aleks pushes James off the bridge. He screams, flailing around, looking for something to grab onto, but he can’t exactly hold onto the air. He screams louder, falling at an alarming rate, before crashing into the water.
It hurts when he plunges into the ocean, all the air escaping his body, and water immediately floods into his open mouth. He panics, flailing around again, trying to swim to the surface, but the current picks him up and hurtles him downstream.
He loses track of time, more preoccupied with fighting the current. Twice he managed to resurface, but he’s dragged back under just as fast. He’s certain he’s going to die, drowned in the goddamn ocean, and it’s all Aleksandr’s fault. The only silver lining is Aleks is probably going to die with him, and if he doesn’t James is totally going to haunt his ass.
James wakes up face down in the sand, soaked and shaking, coughing like a chain smoker. He’s actually surprised he’s alive, but he decides not to look a gift horse in the mouth.
Slowly, he pushes himself up onto his knees, resting his hands on his thighs, coughing again. He shoves wet hair out of his face, having lost his hair tie somewhere along the way, his chest aching with every ragged breath he draws into his body.
After a minute, breathing becomes a bit easier, and he picks his head up, looking around the small area, trying to figure out where he’s at exactly. It’s a small beach with a steep footpath leading up towards what must be a road or something. Somewhere close by he hears a car, confirming his suspicions, and he sighs softly. At least he has a way out of here.
He brushes more hair out of his eyes, staggering to his feet, wondering what the odds are of him finding a car with a working GPS when he remembers he hadn’t been alone when he “fell” into the ocean.
“Aleks!” he calls, voice hoarse, chest aching, and immediately starts coughing. He leans over, resting his hands on his knees, trying to catch his breath. He straightens a few seconds later, trying to clear his throat, wincing in pain, and tries again. “Aleksandr!”
He stumbles over his feet, scanning the beach, looking for his idiot friend. He’s pissed at Aleks, sure, but he doesn’t want the asshole to be dead. He needs him to be alive so James can kill him later.
He finds him a few feet away, curled on his side. James staggers towards him, weaving back and forth, and drops down next to him.
“Hey! Hey, asshole!” He shakes his shoulder, hoping to gauge a response, shaking him harder when he doesn’t get one. “Aleks, c’mon, wake up!” He turns him over onto his back, stomach sinking when he notices the bluish tint to his lips.
“Oh, fuck you,” he hisses, feeling around his icy neck for a pulse, cursing at him when he doesn’t find one. “You fucking asshole! I’m not…! You dick…! I swear to god, Aleks!”
James has never done CPR before, but he took a class once in high school. He knows the basics: tilt the person’s head back, pinch their nose, breathe twice into the mouth, push on their chest fifteen times, hope for the best. It’s surreal, actually doing it to a person and not a dummy, holding their life in his hands, and James can’t help feeling a little overwhelmed. If he screws up, Aleks could die, and while it’s his own damn fault, James still doesn’t want to deal with the aftermath of losing his best friend.
“You die,” he says sharply, pressing harder on Aleks’ chest, “I’m gonna walk straight into hell and drag your ass back just so I can kill you myself. You hear me.” He blows more air into his lungs, his own chest aching again, knowing this is probably the worst thing he can be doing after nearly drowning. “You fuck,” he curses, willing him to wake up. “You stupid fuck!”
He reels back when Aleks gasps, helping him turn onto his side when he starts hacking up the water in his lungs, squeezing his shoulder. He might not be one-hundred percent fine, but he’s alive. That’s all that matters at this point. Everything else can wait because he’s alive and Aleks is alive, and they clearly escaped the FIB.
For now.
They’ll definitely have to deal with that later; if Brett doesn’t kill them first.
When he’s capable of speaking, Aleks croaks, “Did you… just kiss me… back to life?”
“I hate you.