Neal swims for a variety of reasons. To stay healthy, yes, but he could just as easily to that jogging or doing sit ups. He likes swimming because he likes floating, likes the sensation that he's drifting along and can go anywhere, likes the how sound can be both muffled and amplified underwater, and likes the challenge of holding his breath for as long as possible.
Which comes in handy when someone's trying to drown you, but Neal's only reached over a minute when holding his breath and the guy trying to drown him is strong, persistent and patient. Neal's lungs start to ache, then burn, then feel as though they're imploding and he can feel and hear his heart galloping a mile a second.
He's pulled up but not long enough for a sufficient breath before he's submerged again. His lungs can't take it any more and pull an involuntary breath, filling him with water. He's fighting, flailing, struggling to survive, out of his mind with the need to live, live, live. He can feel the world fading and suffers the assault of a thousand regrets moving too fast to even know what they are. Then he slows, drifting, wishing for someone to reach up and pull him back down to Earth.
"Come on, Neal, breathe!"
A hard, sharp pressure on his sternum shoves water from his throat, bursting out of his mouth in a spluttering cough. His lungs spasm like an animal struggling to break free from the net.
The water clears. Air pours into his lungs, the membrane expands, his ribs spread, and the fire is smothered. Neal alternates between coughing and sucking more air with Peter hovering above him, smiling and laughing in giddy relief. Neal rolls his wide eyes to the right to see the man who had tried to take away his love of swimming lying unconscious and cuffed on the floor.
"Cutting it... kind of close... Peter," Neal manages to choke.
"Yeah, well, good thing you can really hold your breath."
Peter pulls Neal to his feet, supporting him so that Neal can focus on breathing, and takes him where it's warm and dry.
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Neal swims for a variety of reasons. To stay healthy, yes, but he could just as easily to that jogging or doing sit ups. He likes swimming because he likes floating, likes the sensation that he's drifting along and can go anywhere, likes the how sound can be both muffled and amplified underwater, and likes the challenge of holding his breath for as long as possible.
Which comes in handy when someone's trying to drown you, but Neal's only reached over a minute when holding his breath and the guy trying to drown him is strong, persistent and patient. Neal's lungs start to ache, then burn, then feel as though they're imploding and he can feel and hear his heart galloping a mile a second.
He's pulled up but not long enough for a sufficient breath before he's submerged again. His lungs can't take it any more and pull an involuntary breath, filling him with water. He's fighting, flailing, struggling to survive, out of his mind with the need to live, live, live. He can feel the world fading and suffers the assault of a thousand regrets moving too fast to even know what they are. Then he slows, drifting, wishing for someone to reach up and pull him back down to Earth.
"Come on, Neal, breathe!"
A hard, sharp pressure on his sternum shoves water from his throat, bursting out of his mouth in a spluttering cough. His lungs spasm like an animal struggling to break free from the net.
The water clears. Air pours into his lungs, the membrane expands, his ribs spread, and the fire is smothered. Neal alternates between coughing and sucking more air with Peter hovering above him, smiling and laughing in giddy relief. Neal rolls his wide eyes to the right to see the man who had tried to take away his love of swimming lying unconscious and cuffed on the floor.
"Cutting it... kind of close... Peter," Neal manages to choke.
"Yeah, well, good thing you can really hold your breath."
Peter pulls Neal to his feet, supporting him so that Neal can focus on breathing, and takes him where it's warm and dry.
The end