A/N - First Baywatch fic, but far from my first fan fic! I was inspired by a recent documentary on Jeremy Jackson and the struggles he faced during the later years of Baywatch and after the show ended. And I'm English, so that is the reason for non-American spelling.

An AU fic. Eighteen-year-old Hobie realises he must say goodbye to LA when he is offered the chance of a lifetime and Mitch receives some news of his own.

HIS FATHER’S SON

People always assumed they knew Hobie Bucannon. He was a swimmer, a surfer, a beach boy. He would follow in his father’s footsteps and lifeguard the Malibu waters. He lived for the beach and the ocean. What else did anyone need to know?

But all those people were wrong. They didn’t see Hobie Bucannon for who he really was. They couldn’t see past the surfer appearance and the beach tan. Hobie was so much more than a beach bum. And he proved it every time he stepped out onto the home plate of Richmond High School’s baseball diamond.

Hobie had played baseball since he was big enough to hold a bat. Even he didn’t know where his love for the sport came from. He was predisposed to be a surfer or a swimmer or something involving the beach. He had grown up with the ocean, surfing the breaks of Malibu, and, yes, he loved riding the waves. But baseball had always been where his heart truly lay.

There was something about that feeling when the bat connected with the ball that gave Hobie an adrenaline rush bigger than any point break could. He would spend hours practicing with a swing ball, perfecting his hit. His mitt was his best friend and he carried it everywhere. He had been the only freshman to make varsity at Richmond and had been on the team ever since. He had come a long way from the skinny little kid playing Little League in elementary school.

He knew Mitch didn’t understand his love of baseball, but that was OK. Hobie didn’t need people to understand. He knew what he felt in his heart and he knew he was never happier than when he was playing ball. He also knew he was good, seriously good. In elementary school, a coach had said he was the best young player he’d ever seen. He’d received numerous awards throughout his Little League career. Now, in his senior year of high school, Hobie still worked his ass off at every practice.

While his friends headed for the beach, he would spend an extra hour out on the field. He would show up half an hour early to run laps. He worked out for longer than anyone. He would never quit a drill until he had it perfect. Most of the other players didn’t understand it, but Hobie loved to push himself to reach the highest levels of skill.

His coaches talked of college scholarships, maybe even the Minors after high school and a ride straight into the Majors. Hobie nodded, smiled and agreed with them, but only because he knew he had to. Inside, he knew the reality. His baseball career would end when he graduated in a month’s time. He would join Baywatch, do the job he was destined for. He’d play softball on the beach once a week, maybe join a league downtown. Over time, his skills would become rusty and, eventually, he would give in and accept the fact he was meant for the beach, not the diamond.

It was just the things were.

X X X

It was a Wednesday night when Hobie played his biggest game for Richmond High. It was the game that would decide the best team in the whole of California. The first time the Richmond Tigers had got through to the final. Even with Hobie’s spectacular record, they had always crashed out just short of reaching their goal. It seemed fitting that they had done it now, when it was Hobie’s last chance of glory before graduation. An apt salute to the best player Richmond had known for many years; captain as a junior, All-State, holder of the LA homeruns record. Hobie Bucannon – Richmond legend.

In the locker room, the teenage boys were quiet as they dressed. Their coach walked among them, occasionally patting one on the shoulder, but mostly he kept his eye on his star player. Hobie didn’t talking before a game, happy to sit in his spot and prepare himself, but as captain, the other boys looked to him for encouragement.

“Hobie?” the coach eventually asked. “Do your thing, son.”

Hobie looked up from where he had been staring down at his mitt, just like he always did. Mentally visualising the hits he was going to deal and the catches he was going to make.

“Yes sir,” he said.

He didn’t even have to ask for quiet. The boys fell silent as soon as he got to his feet. Hobie Bucannon had the respect of everyone in that room.

“This is it, guys,” he said. “This is the last shot us seniors are gonna get at the state title. I don’t know about you, but I’ve wanted this since the day I first put on a Tigers uniform. I want this team to be remembered as the best Richmond’s ever fielded. If we pull this off tonight, we’ll go down in history as heroes. All you younger guys will be stars for the rest of your time here. And the seniors will leave with their dream achieved. So let’s go out there and take it to them! Pile in!”

The boys leapt to their feet, crowding together and piling their hands on top of each other, palms down.

“On three, go Tigers,” Hobie instructed.

The pile of hands pumped up and down as the boys chanted together.

“One, two, three. Go Tigers!”

Five minutes later, they exploded out onto the field to salute their fans. Hobie scoured the bleachers. Mitch was there in the stands, as always. Alongside him, Cody, Logan, CJ and Caroline all fought over nachos, all hoping to see the boy they had watch grow up find success. Hobie was touched by their presence. None of them loved baseball, didn’t even truly understand his passion for it, but they were there for him when they would have much rather been at the beach.

Immaculate in his navy uniform, Hobie stepped up for the first pitch. He took a deep breath, straightened his helmet and brought his bat up. A present from Mitch for his sixteenth, his name engraved in black on the handle. It had served him well.

The crowd leapt to their feet, roaring their approval as Hobie’s bat made hard contact with the pitched ball.

X X X

“Man, you were on fire out there!” Cody whooped, leaping on Hobie.

All around, Richmond fans celebrated their school’s emphatic win. State champions. The highest honour. Lead by Hobie’s five home runs, the Tigers had outshone the visitors in all areas. As the umpire had raised his arms to signal the end of the game, Hobie had dropped to his knees and buried his face in his hands, silently thanking every deity for allowing his high school dream to become reality. His team, coaches and all, had leapt on him a second later and they had lay in the dust in a many-armed hug.

Showered and changed, back out on the field for the presentation, Hobie had wanted to cry as he’d held the trophy aloft. The second the team photos were done, he was running up to the stands, searching for the familiar faces. Now, as Cody released him, he finally turned to his dad.

“We did it, Dad,” he whispered.

Mitch’s eyes shone with unshed tears of pride as he wrapped his arms round his son and hugged him tight.

“I knew you would.”

“Great game, Hobie.” Caroline’s arm draped round his shoulders.

“Yeah, those were some monster hits.” Logan, who didn’t understand baseball, punched him in the bicep. “It’s good when the ball goes over the fence, yeah?”

Hobie managed not to laugh and punched him back. “Yeah, it’s good.”

“I’m really proud of you, son,” Mitch whispered, his arms still tight around Hobie.

“Thanks, Dad.”

“Who’d have thought people would get so worked up about whacking a ball with a stick,” Logan said in wonder, looking at the rapturous celebrations going on around him.

“You got cricket in Australia, don’t you?” CJ asked. “And you get worked up over that, right?”

“Cricket’s different,” Logan said defensively.

“Yeah, baseball’s cool and cricket’s stupid,” Cody crowed, even though he had little love for baseball as a football player.

“Is not.”

“It so is.”

“Guys!” CJ and Caroline protested in unison.

“Yeah, no fighting tonight,” Mitch declared. “Not while my son’s the biggest star in Malibu.”

“Dad, c’mon!” Hobie grinned. “It was a high school baseball game.”

“It could have been the World Series for me.”

“You coming for a pizza to celebrate, Hobe?” Cody asked. “We can head back to mine for a few beers after.”

“I’ll stop by later. The guys want to head for the Strip first.”

“You be careful, OK?” Mitch gave the boy another hug. “Don’t go doing anything stupid.”

“No fear, Dad. I’ll see you later.”

“Have fun.”

“Always do!” Hobie shouted over his shoulder as he jogged down the bleacher steps.

The five lifeguards watched him disappear into the crowd of people that had taken over the pitch.

“You should be so proud of him, Mitch,” CJ said. “He’s got real talent for that sport.”

“I know,” Mitch said, as if realising it for the first time. “It’s gonna be a long time before this school forgets the name Bucannon.”

“Time for a beer?” Logan asked.

“You and Cody have been drinking beer since we got here!” Caroline rolled her eyes.

“Yeah, but now we can go drink it at a bar with comfortable seats.” Cody jumped to his feet. “Are you coming or what?”

X X X

Having finally escaped from the hugs and congratulations of ecstatic fans, Hobie returned to the sanctuary of the locker room to pick up his kit bag.

“Hobie.” The male voice made him jump as he closed his locker. He turned to face Eddie Cullen, the head coach.

“Hey, Coach,” he said.

“You boys getting ready to go party?”

“Yes sir.”

“You deserve it. That was one of the best games I’ve seen in a long time. Mostly thanks to you.”

“I’m just part of the team, Coach.”

The older man looked at him for a long moment. “Siddown a second, Hobie.”

Puzzled, Hobie took a seat beside his coach. “Did I do something wrong, Coach?”

“God no, of course not. I just wanna talk to you before you take off.”

“What about?”

Cullen tugged off his cap and held it in both hands. “Let me tell you something, Hobie. I’ve coached at this school for twenty years, and you’re the best player the Tigers have ever known. I saw it in you the second I set eyes on you. I knew you had something special, that little bit more than the rest of the team.”

“Coach, I...”

“Just let me finish.” Cullen looked directly at him. “You’re a great player, son. And I believe you can get even better, given the right opportunities. It would be a crime to baseball if you retired your bat once you graduate from here.”

“This is about college again, isn’t it?”

“Hobie, do you know how many schools have written to me, begging for a chance to talk to you?”

“Forget it, Coach, I’m not going to college. We’ve been through this.”

“You’ve given me some dumb reasons about already having your future set out. But what sort of future is patrolling a beach when you could be playing Major League ball? Earning hundreds of thousands of dollars.”

“Lifeguarding’s what I’m meant to do. My dad started me training to join Baywatch as soon as I could walk. Every summer I’ve been at the beach. Junior Lifeguards, Rookie School, I’ve done them all. I just gotta take the last step.”

“I know that’s not what you really want, Hobie. You can’t love baseball as much as you do and be prepared to walk away from it just like that.”

“You don’t know how much I love baseball, Coach.”

“Yes, I do. I see it in your eyes every time you step out onto the diamond. It’s inside you, son, in your heart. You got the passion that every great player in Majors has got. I can’t stand to see you let it slip away from you. You got it right here, in your grasp.”

Hobie ran his hands through his spiky hair. “I’d never get through college. You know I only just manage to scrape a C-average. I hate classes and I’m no good at them. The only reason I come to school is to play ball. I wouldn’t last five minutes at any good college.”

“You think they want you for your academics? Hell, Hobie, you could probably get away with never setting foot in a classroom if you carry on playing the way you’re able to. As long as you won games and got them some notice, you’d be able to do whatever you wanted and still get your college diploma.”

“Coach, please. There’s no point in discussing this. I know which schools are interested in me. They’re all city college miles away from any beach. I’m not an inner city kid. I hate being trapped by skyscrapers and endless traffic. I need to be able to wake up in the morning and see the ocean.”

Cullen looked at him steadily. “You’ve already made up your mind, haven’t you?”

“I’ve known what’s gonna happen to me after high school for a long time.”

“It doesn’t have to be that way.”

Hobie smiled slightly and got to his feet. “Yes it does. Goodnight, Coach.”

X X X

In the early hours of the morning, a group of teenage boys sat on the beach. They were drinking cans of beer and sharing burritos from a takeout bag. All wore T-shirts emblazoned by the words Richmond Tigers Baseball.

In the middle of his friends, Hobie sipped his Cools and stared out at the ocean. The gentle sound of the surf lapping against the sound was calming. He was slightly drunk and all the way tired, but he wasn’t ready to head home yet.

“Man, I can’t wait to get outta this place,” one of the other guys announced. “I’m gonna sign the scholarship for Northwestern and I’ll be gone.”

“That’s the way forward, bro,” someone else said. “Our chance to get out.”

“Why’re you so desperate to leave?” Hobie asked.

The others looked at him.

“What else can we do? There’s nothing for us here, Hobe. If we want to make something of ourselves, we gotta move on.”

“We live in LA. The city of opportunity. If you can’t become a success here, what chance do you have anywhere else?”

“I’m not talking about that. I’m talking about the chance to break away, forge our own identities away from all this. If we stay here, we’re always gonna be kids, the sons of so-and-so. Everyone knows if you stay in the place where you grow up, you never really become a man.”

“That’s bullshit, man,” Hobie snorted.

“I believe that,” another boy said. “There’s more to the world than the beach and the ocean. I wanna go see that for myself.”

“Right,” someone else agreed.

“You’re just gonna forget your roots?” Hobie demanded. “Turn your back on all you’ve ever known.”

“We’re gonna forge our own roots, man. Roots that we want, not ones our parents decided for us.”

Hobie dropped his head low, taking a long swallow of beer. He didn’t want to be a part of the conversation anymore. It should have been the best night of his life, celebrating achieving his dream, but instead of elation, he only felt confusion. His friends all knew what they wanted in their lives. They had their futures planned, futures they had decided for themselves. Futures they wanted.

What the hell did Hobie Bucannon want?