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For the first few minutes after the boys from Washington won Olympic gold, Don Hume felt nothing but pure, unadulterated, adrenaline-induced ecstasy.
The roar of the crowd was deafening, Don’s ears ringing with it as the team leisurely rowed back to the shore where race officials, the press, and their coaches were already waiting for them. Though he was dimly conscious that some of the shouts from onlookers were shouts of dismay as the German home team finished in a disappointing third that thought quickly drifted away as he exchanged grins and triumphant pats on the back with his teammates. Even Ulbrickson could barely conceal his excitement, catching Don’s eye as he shook hands with the race officials and giving him an approving nod and a small smile- one stroke to another, Don knew.
It wasn’t until it was time to get out of the boat for more photographs and interviews (and, of course, medals eventually) that he felt his illness slowly catching up to him. The stabbing pain in his chest which had receded into a distant ache during the race returned, and when he tried to step onto the dock his legs began to shake so badly that he couldn’t stand. Don cursed under his breath, his cheeks burning with exertion (and no small amount of embarrassment), but then a hand appeared in front of him, and he looked up into the eyes of Bobby Moch.
“C’mon. Time to go meet our adoring fans.”
Reaching up, Don took Bobby’s hand, allowing the coxswain to hoist him up out of the boat with a strong but gentle grip. Bobby didn’t let go even after Don was relatively steady on his feet again, instead opting to throw his arm around Don’s shoulders as the pair were swarmed by reporters who shoved cameras in their faces and hurled scores of questions at them. It was all extremely overwhelming but thankfully Bobby took charge, fending them off with the practiced air of a movie star like Jean Harlow or Clark Gable.
How the hell did he learn to do that? Don wondered, his mind drifting as he pictured the rest of the boys running around Berlin with paparazzi hot on their heels while he puked his guts out in an Olympic Village bathroom that reeked of antiseptic and disappointment. He snapped back to reality only when Bobby called his name, and he realized that everyone was looking at him expectantly.
“…We’re all just real happy to make everyone back home in Washington proud. Isn’t that right Don?”
“Mhm.” Don nodded and did his best to smile, hoping it would appease them. It seemed to, and the conversation turned back to Bobby, and then to Joe and the other boys, and Don was almost in the clear.
“You okay?” Joe turned to Don and asked after several more minutes. “You’re looking a little green around the gills.”
“I’m fine,” Don replied automatically, though the breathless rasp of his voice betrayed him somewhat. His knees wobbled. “Just- just tired.”
“Woah, okay.” Joe caught Don’s elbow and Bobby tightened his grip on him without drawing too much attention to them. “Let’s get out of here.”
“No.” Don shook his head as the pair tried to lead him away from the crowd. “Almost done. I’m okay.”
“Like hell you’re okay,” Bobby muttered, and Joe looked as if he was about to argue as well when Ulbrickson appeared in front of them and addressed the crew.
“Alright boys, go get yourselves showered and cleaned up. Medal ceremony’s in twenty minutes, and if you’re late I’m keeping them all for myself.”
“Can you make it?” Joe asked as they started towards the locker room. Don set his jaw and nodded.
“I have to.”
~
Keep smiling. Just keep smiling. Breathe. Almost done. Smile. Shake hands. Breathe. Breathe.
As the German official (they’d been told who it was multiple times, Don just couldn’t for the life of him remember his name) placed the gold medal around his neck, Don repeated this inner monologue. Just keep breathing, just keep smiling, not long now. Sweat trickled down the back of his neck, whether from the effort of standing or his fever, he didn’t know. Next to him, Joe received his medal, grinning from ear to ear as he gazed down at its shining gold surface. Then came Shorty, and Stub, and he really didn’t feel well. Surely it would be fine if he sat down for a moment, Coach would understand- but no, he couldn’t. Don wasn’t at home in Washington, he was in Berlin with thousands of people staring at him, he was representing not just his university but his entire country, he couldn’t let them down.
Breathe.
“Don? Hey, Don!”
Don snapped back to awareness at the sound of Bobby’s voice and the feeling of his hand resting lightly on his lower back. He looked over at him, brow wrinkling in confusion. “Yeah?”
“It’s over. We’ve gotta head back to the village now.”
“Oh. It’s over?”
“Yeah.” Bobby frowned, cautiously reaching up and feeling Don’s forehead with the back of his hand. “Shit, I think your fever’s up again. You’re burning.”
Don didn’t think he was burning, surely he’d feel hotter if he was actually on fire. He didn’t feel much of anything, in fact, having begun to feel strangely disconnected from his body. His head was floating a few feet above the ground, and there was no sign of his feet. Or hands. God, he was tired.
“Goddamnit- Joe! Get over here, he’s gonna pass out!”
Joe and Bobby’s worried faces swam into view, and Don felt incredibly guilty. He hated to worry anyone, especially his friends. Especially his crew. Bobby, for all his bravado and insults, looked after all of them like a mother hen. And Joe was one of the nicest people he’d ever met, that was why Don had told him first when the slight sore throat he had boarded the ship to Berlin with turned into a raging fever and hacking cough.
“Come on, Donny. Stay with us.”
Where was he going? Don didn’t know. “’M fine… need to sit down, ‘s all.”
“Well, you’re sure as hell sitting down right now,” Bobby muttered.
“Can you still walk?” That was Joe’s voice. Don wasn’t sure if he could.
“In a minute… gonna take a break first.”
“What?”
“No, don’t take a break!”
“Donny- “
Don closed his eyes.
~
He was floating- no, swimming. He was swimming, completely submerged in a cool nothing. He stayed there for a while, content to paddle around like he had as a child when his father first taught him how to swim. The water felt marvelous on his hot skin, and he took a deep breath, letting it fill his lungs. It didn’t hurt, although a small voice in the back of his mind told him that it probably should. He ignored it.
Eventually, Don grew tired of swimming, and let himself float again. He closed his eyes, feeling the sun on his skin, a distant warmth in the cold abyss. He wanted to stay here forever. Except-
Except. Don’s eyes flew open, the water now feeling shockingly cold, digging its icy claws into his arms and legs and pinning him down. He needed to get out. But how? He opened his mouth to call for help, but all of a sudden, he was coughing, choking. He couldn’t breathe. He was going to die down here. His body went limp.
Row.
Don blinked.
Row.
He knew what he had to do.
“Alright, Don, give me 36!”
Pull, release. Pull, release. Pull, release.
Slowly, slowly, he rowed his way to the surface.
Pull, release.
Release.
Don opened his eyes, squinting against the onslaught of bright sunlight which filled the room. Glancing around, he realized he was back in his bed in the Olympic Village. His sheets were soaked with sweat and his whole body ached like he’d been rowing in the Olympics (oh wait, he had), but he felt completely clear-headed for the first time in weeks.
Pushing himself up on shaky arms, Don realized that he wasn’t alone. The entire crew was spread out around him, almost all of them fast asleep. Bobby was sitting in a chair in the corner of the room, snoring with his head tilted back against the wall. Roger was curled up in a bed directly across from his, asleep on top of the covers with his clothes still on, and Johnny and Stub slept in beds next to his. Shorty, Chuck, and Gordy were, like Bobby, asleep sitting up, although they were propped against the wall, appearing to have fallen asleep while talking to each other. Joe, on the floor at the foot of his bed, was the only one still awake, lazily thumbing through a book Don recognized as an engineering textbook.
“Joe,” he rasped, suddenly conscious of how dry his mouth was. He cleared his throat. Joe’s head shot up, and when he locked eyes with Don he grinned and pushed himself up off the floor.
“You’re awake.” Joe sat at the end of Don’s bed. “How, uh, how’re you feeling?”
“Better,” Don croaked. “Sorry, can I- water?”
“Oh! Yeah, of course.” Joe stood and walked to a nearby nightstand, where there was a pitcher of water and matching glasses. As he poured Don a glass Bobby and a few of the others all stirred, several of them groaning at the cricks in their necks as they came around.
“He’s up boys. Here,” Joe said, handing Don a glass of water. Don nodded his thanks, and then the room was suddenly filled with raucous, jubilant shouts as the rest of the boys raced to crowd around his bed.
“He’s awake!”
“How you feeling? Any better?”
“He sure looks better.”
“Should we get Coach Ulbrickson? Or Pocock?”
“What are they gonna do?”
“I dunno, I just thought maybe-“
“Alright, alright! Break it up, give the man some room you damn vultures,” Bobby admonished, shoving through the group and parting them down the middle like the Red Sea. He looked Don up and down, hands on his hips. “Looks like someone’s fever broke. About damn time, if you ask me.”
Don ducked his head and hid his face behind his glass as he drank from it, suddenly feeling shy. “What are you all doing here?”
“You thought we were just gonna leave you here alone?” Shorty asked incredulously. “Not a chance! Not even Ulbrickson could keep us away now that everything’s over.”
“But didn’t… didn’t you want to go out? Explore, or something?” Don asked. He hadn’t seen much of Berlin, but he was pretty sure it was more exciting than hanging around waiting for him to wake up.
“Explore what, the shit the Nazis want us to see?” Bobby spat, anger that Don knew wasn’t directed at him glittering in his eyes. “I’ll take being your nurse over that any day.”
“And we already went out a couple of days ago anyway, while you were still out of it,” Chuck added. Roger elbowed him in the side with an exasperated smile.
“We meant it when we said we’d drag you along,” Shorty said. “No one gets left behind. You’re stuck with us.”
Don’s cheeks flushed and he looked down at his lap, but the warm feeling growing steadily in his chest was a pleasant one. It made him want to cry and laugh at the same time, though maybe that was just the lingering effects of his fever talking.
After a minute of silence, Bobby broke the tension. “Alright, Donny. Drink up quick, then hit the showers. I hate to tell you this, but boy, do you stink.”
The whole room exploded with laughter, and Don couldn’t help but join in, laughing until his sides hurt. Then Chuck started an impromptu pillow fight, chasing Bobby around the room until he finally caught him and the two collapsed on the floor as the rest of the boys joined in. Don was content to sit back and watch the chaos unfold around him, feeling safe in the knowledge that his crew- his family- was there for him.