Chapter Text
The mission had seemed simple.
A time anomaly in 1854 Louisiana, just off the banks of the Mississippi River. A minor artifact displaced by a rogue time traveler, buried somewhere deep in the riverbed. They’d dealt with worse. Zari had made a snarky comment about mosquitoes, Sara had handed out assignments, and Behrad—well, Behrad had volunteered to dive.
“I’m a chill water sign, man,” he’d joked, flashing that grin that always made people roll their eyes and smile anyway. “Let me do the swimming.”
Astra had smirked and told him not to drown. She hadn’t meant it.
---
It was supposed to be a ten-minute dive. Behrad had a rebreather, a locator beacon, and Nate’s voice in his earpiece guiding him toward the time fragment, which had landed somewhere beneath the murky river waters. The rest of the Legends were spread out on the banks, monitoring time fluctuations and fielding local interference.
“Signal’s clear,” Nate had said, his voice crisp through the comms. “Should be about twenty meters ahead. You got this, B.”
“Piece of cake,” Behrad’s voice had crackled in return.
But then… the line had gone silent.
First, Nate thought it was static.
Then, a minute passed. Then two.
“Behrad?” Nate’s voice sharpened. “Can you read me?”
Nothing.
The comms hissed—just white noise now.
Zari stood near the shore, scanning the water, already fidgeting. “That’s not funny,” she muttered. “Tell me that’s just him screwing around.”
Astra was already peeling off her jacket, her heels sinking into the muddy bank. “He’s been under too long,” she said tightly. “Something’s wrong.”
Panic didn’t take its time—it pounced.
---
Nate dove first.
He hit the cold water with a jolt, the shock stealing his breath. The Mississippi wasn’t kind in spring. Silt clouded his vision, and currents tugged at his limbs like ghost hands. The rebreather was somewhere at the bottom—Behrad too.
It took precious minutes. Minutes that felt like years. But then, he saw it—a flicker of blue, a flash of the totem’s glow, then a body.
Behrad.
Face pale, lips tinged with blue, floating just beneath the surface debris like a discarded doll.
Nate didn’t think—he just grabbed him and kicked hard toward the light above.
---
By the time they made it to shore, Zari was already screaming for Gideon.
“Medical override! Medical override now!”
Behrad wasn’t breathing.
Astra dropped to her knees in the mud, pushing Nate aside. She didn’t waste time. “Help me turn him over!” she shouted.
Nate fumbled, hands shaking as they tilted Behrad onto his side, water pouring from his mouth in sickening, slow gushes. His chest didn’t rise. He didn’t cough.
He wasn’t moving.
“Come on, come on, damn you,” Astra hissed, pressing down hard on his chest. CPR wasn’t new to her—but doing it on someone she knew, someone she’d joked with just an hour ago?
This wasn’t supposed to happen.
He gasped.
A horrible, wet sound, but a sound. Behrad’s body jerked beneath her palms, and he choked violently, spitting river water and bile into the dirt.
Zari dropped to his side in tears. “You absolute idiot,” she sobbed, brushing wet hair from his face. “Don’t you ever do that again.”
---
They got him back to the Waverider.
Gideon ran full diagnostics, issued warm saline drips, oxygen, thermal blankets—but Behrad didn’t wake up.
“He’s stable,” Gideon said after what felt like hours. “But severely hypothermic. Water temperature and prolonged exposure suggest risk of secondary complications.”
Astra’s brow furrowed. “What kind of complications?”
“Pulmonary infection. Pneumonia. I will monitor.”
Nate clenched his fists. “You mean we pulled him out just in time to watch him suffer?”
“Hopefully not,” Gideon said gently. “But he is not out of danger.”
---
Astra didn’t leave the medbay.
Neither did Nate.
Zari came and went, pacing outside the door like a caged animal, but Astra and Nate stayed rooted—silent sentinels by the medbed.
Behrad’s skin was too pale. His breathing too shallow. Tubes ran from his nose and arm, and his body twitched occasionally, as though remembering the water’s grip.
Nate couldn’t stop replaying the moment he saw him drifting under the surface. That frozen, weightless stillness.
“I should’ve gone in sooner,” he said quietly.
Astra didn’t look at him. “Don’t.”
“It’s true. I waited too long to realize something was wrong.”
“You didn’t. He disappeared. The comms failed. This wasn’t your fault.”
He rubbed a hand over his face. “Still feels like it.”
Astra finally turned, and the anger in her eyes startled him. “You think you’re the only one feeling guilty? I told him not to drown. As a joke. That was the last thing I said to him. And now he’s like this.”
Nate swallowed hard. “We were supposed to protect each other.”
They sat in silence after that.
Behrad didn’t wake up.
---
A day passed.
Then two.
The fever hit by day three.
It started low-grade. Then it spiked.
Gideon administered antibiotics and ran new blood panels, but Behrad’s condition worsened—his lungs rattled, his pulse weakened. His body fought to breathe, but every inhale was a battle.
Zari stopped cracking jokes.
Astra stopped sleeping.
And Nate—Nate started praying, though he wasn’t sure who to.
---
On day five, Behrad opened his eyes.
Barely.
“Astra?” he rasped, barely audible.
Her head jerked up. “Hey. Hey—look at you. Took your sweet time.”
He coughed—wet, deep, painful. His whole body trembled from the effort.
“Don’t try to talk,” she said, brushing damp hair off his forehead. “Just rest, okay?”
But his eyes locked on hers—terrified. Confused.
Then he looked past her—to Nate.
“Did I… die?”
“No,” Nate said, forcing a small smile. “But you sure as hell tried.”
Behrad closed his eyes again.
This time, a tear slipped down his cheek.