by Ellis Murdock

19 July, 2002

Hutch leaned back against the pillow, tried to get comfortable, and found for the fifth time in two minutes that no position was really going to offer respite. A distant part of his mind even registered the reason: there's no physical cure for discomfort that has its origins in a place deep within. He'd drafted Starsky into his short-but-spirited war against light and sound, resulting in nearly perfect darkness in the bedroom – a thoroughly unnatural state for early evening. Even that had managed to go awry. Instead of the cocoon he was hoping to escape into, the darkness had become its own form of oppression, and the silence made him feel like a soul in exile. Hutch rolled to his left, every muscle in his body screaming in protest. What the HELL had happened today, anyway?

The scenario replayed in his mind without mercy, and Hutch had no more power to stop it now than he'd had as it unfolded in the first place. Starsky had been the first to spot the two small boys splashing happily about in the water, looking very small in the vastness of ocean. Hutch had scanned the beach in the hopes of finding the adults in charge of the children, but no likely candidates presented themselves -- worrisome, not only because of the water's depth, but also the presence of an undertow strong enough to challenge even experienced adult swimmers. Then the splashing became thrashing, and there was no doubt, no time to think. Hutch's heart quickened at the memory of what followed. Would anything have been different had he analyzed instead of reacting? He frowned. Surely not. An award-winning swimmer for nearly as long as he could remember, he was the natural choice to go in, something that was true even before the shooting that permanently altered Starsky's physical abilities. Oh, yeah? You're so capable, Hutchinson, why the hell— His efforts at self-prosecution were interrupted by both a shaft of light from the doorway and the person responsible for allowing the intruder to gain entry.

"Hey, how're you doin'?" As if unsure of his welcome, Starsky didn't venture fully into the room, leaning instead against the doorframe and speaking just above a whisper. "I was gonna whip up a couple of my famous Steaks a la Starsky with those potatoes you like so much, but if your throat's sore, we could save that 'til tomorrow. How about it? Y'want me to call Huggy and have him bring over some soup?"

The unrelenting cheer of his partner irritated Hutch to his core. Starsky wouldn't mock him – he knew that – but Hutch found little to be joyful about at the moment and for the life of him couldn't imagine what might be making Starsky so euphoric. "Not hungry," he snapped, "and I was trying to get some sleep."

"Oh." A response seemed to be the only encouragement needed to bring Starsky into the room, and he approached the bed with a surety and confident swagger Hutch hadn't seen for far too long. Hutch's heart noted the change, even as his head was inclined to disregard anything that smacked even remotely of joie de vie.

"You still feeling that bad?" Starsky reached a hand to Hutch's forehead, his face registering bemusement and concern as his target flinched from his touch. "Maybe you should've been checked out, you know? Didn't think so at the time, but—"

"I'm fine. Really. Just need some sleep, okay?"

Their eyes locked, and Hutch felt his cheeks flush at the intensity of his partner's gaze. Starsky had free access to a part of him even Hutch couldn't always reach, but the last thing he wanted right now was to share his turbulent innermost thoughts. He searched the face staring down at him for the subtlest signs of unease, sympathy, or even pity but, finding none, felt the acute need to break contact and turned away. Of course, in this light. . . . But no, he wouldn't really expect to find evidence of any of those even in the harshest glare of the midday sun. Starsky's expression instead radiated a pure, concentrated form of warmth, something frighteningly similar to understanding, and…love. Please, just go. He wasn't ready to be that exposed.

Starsky seemed to have other ideas, though and, shifting on the small space of bed available to him, stretched out...shoes and all. "Must be sore, huh? How about that rubdown we talked about earlier? Offer's still good, y'know."

"Starsk, I appreciate the thought, but really—"

"No trouble at all. Just turn yourself over a little more to the right…. Perfect!"

If nothing else, Hutch was a realist perfectly capable of recognizing a lost battle when he encountered one, and he surrendered without further protest. Really, what was the point? The blissful sensation of strong fingers coaxing angry muscles into submission made that a moot issue, anyway. Starsky hands were endowed with the gifts of a wizard, and Hutch had long been utterly powerless against their rhythmic dance.

"You're not making this easy, y' know that? I'm not going to be able to do much if you don't stop fighting me and relax."

"Relax?"

"Relax. It's easy – just think about what you're doing now, then do the reverse." Starsky's fingers inched along an almost imperceptible upward path, paying particular attention to the neatly knotted deltoid muscles of both shoulders. "C'mon, help me out a little here. I could bounce quarters off your back!"

Where some people might have parsed a clue at the resounding silence and given up, Starsky was predictably undeterred, continuing blithely on and seemingly oblivious to Hutch's growing agitation.

"It feels like a rock garden back here." Starsky was silent for a second or two, then chuckled softly. "Reminds me of this football game I played in once. Our team was down fourteen zip, right? Late third quarter. Iverson – he was this huge linebacker, bigger than any high schooler had the right to be – well, he suddenly got anxious, I guess, and—"

Unbelievable. I don't know what kind of game this is, buddy, but whatever it is, I'm not in the mood to play. Angry now, Hutch flipped over with startling speed and nearly tossed Starsky off the bed. "I could've killed you. Do you understand? I could've killed you!"

If the outburst came as a surprise, Starsky disguised that fact admirably well. He blinked a few times, then arranged himself in nearly the same position he'd been in a few seconds earlier, taking the time to tuck in a flap of sheet that had escaped from beneath the mattress. "You didn't," he replied evenly.

"That's not the point!"

"It's not?"

"Well, it's— Okay, it's part of the point, but if I could've grabbed you like I was trying to do—" In exasperation, Hutch demonstrated by fixing a vise-like grip on Starsky's shirt. "What exactly do you think would've happened? Huh?"

"You'd have probably latched on with a death grip. Why d'ya think I towed you in on a beach towel, instead of reaching out for you?"

"And if you wouldn't have found one?"

"I'd have found something else."

"And if you couldn't? Come on, Starsk. You'd have tried. I know you."

"Okay, so maybe I would have. That's what we do. It's what we've always done."

Hutch sat up abruptly, yanking the sheet from its sanctuary once again. "And I'd have taken us both down!" He slammed his fist into a pillow to help illustrate a point Starsky obviously wasn't getting. "Everything I've ever said about protecting you, never being able to hurt you, would've gone right out the window then – I wasn't thinking. It was…primitive." He smacked the pillow against the nightstand and hit it again.

"Yeah, you were trying to survive. You're gonna beat yourself up over something like self-preservation? That's what people do when they're drowning, remember? Instinct? One of the strongest, if I remember my old high school class correctly." Starsky pulled out the pillow from behind his back, fluffed it, then handed it to Hutch. "My pillow," he replied to the questioning look, pointing to the dejected-looking object slumped near the nightstand. "You can be emphatic with your own, okay? It'll be even better – no feathers."

Hutch rolled his eyes and leaned back with a puff. "I'm serious."

"I know and I'm sorry, but it's hard to take anything seriously coming from a guy with a killer cowlick." Starsky laughed and further mussed what Hutch knew was already a head full of what his aunt used to teasingly refer to as "sticky outy bits." "I'm trying," he added patiently, "but I wish you'd talk to me. What is it, huh? What is it about this that's got you so tied up in knots?"

"My damsel in distress routine wasn't enough? For God's sake, I needed you to rescue me – I felt like an idiot!"

The shock and pain that washed across Starsky's face struck Hutch with the impact of a physical blow. He hadn't meant…. "Starsk—"

"Is that what this is all about? You feeling bad because I had to go in and help you?" Starsky took a sudden interest in the two rings decorating his pinkie, rotating each in turn as he continued. "I know I'm kinda rusty, but it's something I used to be good at it. Never seemed to bother you before."

"No! Starsky, please, that's not what I…." Hutch took a deep breath. Honesty trumped pride whenever Starsky's well-being was involved, and vulnerability suddenly lost most of its threatened sting. "I panicked," he admitted softly.

As suddenly as it had appeared, the hurt vanished from Starsky's expression and was replaced by a knowing smile. "Go on."

"You were there – you saw!"

"I saw you toss one boy near to shore, then dive under until you found the second and did the same thing. Did you see the look on Mrs. Morton's face when she finally got there and realized those were her kids out there? That was panic. I almost had to knock her out to keep her from diving in, too. Glad her husband came when he did. But I also saw Mom and Dad when I fished their little ones out the rest of the way and handed them over – there's nothing like it. "Elation" and "relief" don't even cover the half of it. You're their hero."

"Some hero!" Hutch responded bitterly. "I reacted like a two-year-old in the deep end of the wading pool. I just don't…I don't know what happened. You had to pry my hands off the towel when you pulled me out. I couldn't even unclench my damned hands!" There, it was out in the open now. Strangely enough, instead of it being a cathartic experience, Hutch felt even more shamed than before.

"You swallowed a stomach full of sea water, Hutch. If you hadn't brought it up, you'd have made your quota of salt for the entire year in one afternoon. There's nothing wrong with a bit of panic every now and then," he added gently. "Sometimes it's the only healthy response going."

"I never panic. God knows I've been in emergency situations before, but I've only ever frozen—" Hutch stopped there, knowing full well that Starsky would need no further prodding to remember the last time. At least that one had been fairly easy to analyze, while this was a total mystery. "I've been trying to figure it out, but nothing makes sense. I have to know why; I have to know what's happening to me."

"I guess just accepting that you're human is out of the question?"

"What if it's just the tip of something larger, huh? Where do we go from there?"

"That's what I thought," Starsky replied with a grin. "Okay, I can't claim to know reasons." He sniffed, then laid an arm across Hutch's chest, patting his partner's stomach lightly. "But I don't think there's anything wrong with your courage, if that's what you're worried about. I'll tell ya something else, too – not only did I get to watch you be you – jump without looking and save the lives of two little kids -- I got to back you up. You needed me today."

"I always need you."

"Yeah, but not like this. Not to save your life. You know how long it's been since I saved anybody's life? And to have it be yours?" Starsky smiled and shook his head. "Best feeling in the world. We were – are – partners. Maybe it's not exactly like before, but something changed in me today. Can you understand what I'm sayin' here? It's not just what happened, but the fact that I could do it at all." The hand moved up to the back of Hutch's neck, absently fingering his newly trimmed hair in a gesture that was at once comfortingly familiar and achingly intimate. "Think about it, Hutch. Two kids are alive because of you. Their parents think you walk on water – they'd donate major organs if you needed them. Hell, they tried to give you their car! You survived without any major damage, and you gave me back a part of me I didn't even know was missing. What more is it gonna take to make this a good day?"

Hutch stared open-mouthed, not sure he'd have been more surprised had Starsky started reciting Plato's Republic in its native Greek. It was an odd feeling, this sense that the walls of his own disappointment were systematically caving in on themselves. Then again, how do you stay angry at your weakness when that same weakness has given the person you love more than life a newly found gift of strength and capability? It made no sense, and yet…. Perceptions. Was it possible he'd been so caught up in his own point of view that he'd missed Starsky's entirely? Not just Starsky's, he amended, as his own memories from the beach slowly gave way to the fuzzier awareness of the Morton family reunion going on just twenty feet or so away. So, it's not all about you, Hutchinson. He hadn't actually believed it was, but recollection of actions that suggested otherwise caused his cheeks to heat once again.

"Can't argue with it, can you?" Starsky asked, the triumphant grin he sported brightening the room.

"No." Hutch settled back into comfortable closeness with his partner, finally allowing some of the day's tension to ebb away. There was still no explanation for the panic, and he didn't like the self-doubt that spawned. Then again, how much did it really matter? He'd go swimming again, confidence would be restored, life would move on, and all would be right with the world. "I still don't feel like a hero." It was a simple point, but an important one.

"Just as well." Starsky swiveled enough to take off his shoes, then stretched out fully alongside Hutch, the resulting warmth doing more for Hutch's muscles than a hundred massages. "I like you better when you're humble, even if it is the truth." Starsky leaned in close to the nearest ear and whispered, "And you are, you know. Always."

Hutch smiled and granted both mind and body permission to relax into the sleep wanting so desperately to overtake his consciousness…until another thought sprang to the surface, and he raised himself up on his elbows. "Hey."

"Yeah?"

"So you're telling me that nearly drowning was, in the larger scope of things, somehow therapeutic for you? That this was something good?"

"It was, and I appreciate it. There really aren't a lot of people out there who would go to those lengths."

Hutch sighed, and lay back again. "No, I don't imagine there are. You've got it now, though? I mean, reassure me that I'm not going to have to throw myself into a burning building the next time you're feeling a little low."

Starsky yawned and elbowed Hutch lightly. "Nah. A broken bone would more than do it – I make great splints."

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