Work Text:
The Storm
By TLR
Plot: Hutch has an idea to help Starsky feel better after the Lonnie Craig case. (Related to the episode, "Pariah").
::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
Starsky's point of view.
The sea was a vast, unpredictable force, much like the turmoil swirling in my mind. The events of the past few weeks had left scars that the ocean's healing power could only begin to soothe.
The routine call turned into a nightmare... one that ended with me pulling the trigger on a teenage boy named Lonnie Craig. Despite being cleared of any wrongdoing, the gravity of that moment lingered like an anvil dragging me down.
Hutch, always tuned in to me, sensed the darkness left behind in me. It was his idea to take a sailing trip, to help ease my mind and regain some semblance of confidence.
"It'll be good for you," he cajoled. "For both of us."
I knew only a little about sailing, but the thought of scuba diving in the deep blue had a certain appeal. Hutch was determined to get me in the water, and when he set his mind on helping me, there was little I could do about it. I trusted him.
The boat, a modest beauty named The Seeker that he borrowed from his uncle Ray, bobbed gently in the harbor as we loaded our gear.
"Ah man, Starsk, this is what we need."
Hutch moved with easy confidence, his blond hair catching the sunlight as he got the boat ready, explaining every little detail, always in his glory whenever he was instructing me. Sometimes the Thee in Me and Thee needed no heavy conversation, just doing. He was a maestro at that. Lucky Me. I could only hope to give him the same in return whenever he needed it.
The tang of saltwater filled the air, mingling with the far cries of seagulls. He showed me where the supplies and equipment were.
"Ready to cast off, Starsk?"
Hutch's voice, filled with a boyish enthusiasm that I couldn't help but respond to, broke through my daydreaming.
"Yeah, let's do this," I replied, my smile not so forced now.
As we sailed out of the harbor, the Bay City skyline gradually gave way to the endless horizon. Hutch took the helm, guiding us with a sure hand.
"Just beautiful, isn't it?" he remarked.
He meant it. And it was.
"B... E... A... utiful," I agreed.
He showed me the ropes with the sails, the physical activity a welcome distraction from the heavy thoughts that threatened to return.
"You're doing great, Starsk."
"Thanks," I muttered, focusing on the task at hand. The flapping of the sails and the lapping of the waves against the hull created a soothing rhythm. A setting for peace of mind; if I could just let it come in.
The sun climbed higher, casting a warm glow over the water. We sailed for hours, the coastline becoming a memory. Hutch talked about everything and nothing, his voice as comforting as a soft ballad. He entertained me with stories of past sailing trips with his uncle Ray on the Great Lakes and in the Pacific.
"Ready to dive?" he asked when he was all out of sailing stories.
"Why not?"
"Let's suit up. Don't forget your camera."
We decided to drop anchor near a small, rocky island, then submerged.
The underwater world was a serene escape. Schools of fish darted around us, their colors vibrant against the coral. Hutch pointed out some cool things to capture with my waterproof camera. We swam deeper, the pressure and silence calming me. It was a break that felt good.
::
We shared a quiet dinner from our cooler on the deck, the sky blazing with the colors of the setting sun. Hutch had packed our favorites, and we ate in comfortable silence. As darkness fell, an old lighthouse onshore came into view.
"Think we should check it out tomorrow?" he suggested.
"Could be interesting."
When the night got deeper, we settled into our bunks, the easy rocking of the boat and Hutch's steady breathing in the bunk across from me, lulling me into the promise of sleep that had eluded me since the Craig shooting.
::
The next morning, we woke to a sky filled with ominous clouds and strong winds. Hutch checked the weather report, then came back with, "Looks like a storm’s brewing."
"Should we head back?"
"Yeah, let’s play it safe. We can always come back."
We prepared to sail back to the mainland, but the storm had other plans. The wind picked up bigtime, and the waves got violent. Hutch’s hands were firm on the helm, but I could see tension in his jaw.
"Hang on, Starsk!" he shouted over the roar of the wind. "This could get rough!"
We fought the storm, every muscle straining against the elements. The sky darkened, and rain pelted us with stinging force. The lighthouse, our earlier point of curiosity, now stood a grim reminder of the danger we were facing.
"Terrific!" I shouted over at him.
The sky kept getting darker, the clouds thicker, but we maintained. Just as we thought we were making headway, a massive wave crashed over the deck, sweeping Hutch off his feet. He hit the railing hard and would have fallen overboard if I hadn't grabbed him back.
"Lost the compass," he gasped, clutching his ribs on his left side. "But I'm okay. Little banged up."
But I could see from the pain on his pale face that he was a little more than banged up. We were in trouble, and the shore seemed too far away. As another wave threatened to capsize us, I shouted over the roar, "The lighthouse! It’s our only chance!"
He nodded, too winded to argue. With a Samson effort, we turned The Seeker towards the island, battling the storm with every ounce of strength we had left. The lighthouse loomed larger than life, a ghostly silhouette in the stormy haze.
We traded a hopeful smile. Shelter was a little closer.
But no. The storm had other plans.
A wave larger than any before, hit us broadside, and The Seeker capsized, throwing both of us into the churning sea.
I broke the surface, gasping for air. I didn't see him in the water. I forced myself to focus. I had to find him. Being separated from him always felt dark and cold. Together, we could survive anything. Apart, it was life-threatening.
"HUTCH!"
Then I saw him floating face-down a few yards away. Panic shot through me, but I pushed it aside and fought mighty waves as I swam towards him with all the strength I had.
"Hutch! Hey!"
I grabbed him and turned him over. He was unconscious, a nasty gash on his forehead bleeding into the water. "Hutch, come on! Wake up!"
No response. I wrapped my arm around his chest and started swimming towards the shore, every stroke a battle.
My muscles screamed in protest, and the saltwater filled my mouth and stung my eyes, but I couldn't stop. The lighthouse was our only hope, and I had to get him to safety. The rocky shoreline came into view, and with one final burst of energy, I dragged us onto the jagged rocks.
I collapsed beside him, my breath coming in ragged gasps. The storm raged around us, but I knew we couldn't stay exposed. Lightning flashed and thunder rolled. I had to get him inside. I forced myself to stand, then bent down, took him under the arms, and began to pull him toward the shelter.
The path to the lighthouse was treacherous, the wind and rain making every step a struggle. I winced at each crack of thunder. I slipped a little more than once, but each time, I got back up, driven by the need to protect Hutch.
I wasn't above praying.
God, help us.
Finally, I reached the heavy wooden door of the lighthouse and, to my surprise, it creaked open, revealing a weatherworn but useful interior. The place was abandoned, the air thick with dust, and musty with the scent of long ago memories.
I stumbled inside and got him into a small room that looked like it had been an office at one time. I put him on a tattered cot and found a worn cotton sheet to cover him with, trying to keep him warm.
"Come on, Blintz," I said patting his cheek. "You have to wake up."
I checked his pulse... it was weak but steady. The gash on his forehead needed tending to, so I tore off a piece of the sheet and pressed it against the wound to stem the bleeding. It eventually worked. The cut wasn't as bad as I first thought.
I stayed close to him, my eyes shooting around the room for anything that could help us.
"Starsk," came his weak voice.
Finally.
"Hey," I said catching his searching hand. "We made it to the lighthouse, buddy. I think we'll be okay. How long do these storms last anyway?"
He didn't... or couldn't... answer. Guess I would soon have my answer, because I intended for us to ride it out until it was over.
I found another sheet and wrapped it snug but not too tight around his chest, in case his ribs were cracked or broken.
When I did this, he made a small sound of pain, which made my heart shrink.
"Sorry," I whispered as I covered him again. "That part's done. Just rest, huh?"
But fatigue was catching up with me, and I rested too, sitting down on the floor and laying my head against the old cot, near Hutch's hand so he could find me easy if he needed to. For the first time since the Lonnie Craig shooting, I slept all night through without waking or dreaming.
::
Dawn broke with sunlight piercing through the clouds, and a new perspective.
The Craig case was over. Hutch was my partner. My best friend. And he needed me to be at my best.
The distant sound of a boat engine came to my ears, growing louder by the minute.
"Rescue," I said as I patted Hutch's shoulder and ran out to flag the boat down. Most likely Captain Dobey, Huggy, or Ray Hutchinson had contacted the Coast Guard.
"We see you!" someone from the team called through their bullhorn. "Just stay put! We're coming to you!"
"Bring a stretcher!" I shouted. "My partner's injured!"
I hurried back in to tell Hutch. He looked around with a drowsy expression. "We made it, huh?"
"We sure did."
The rescue team quickly made their way to us with a stretcher, assessing Hutch's condition and helping us onto the boat.
The ride back to the mainland was a mix of exhaustion and relief. Hutch was okay, and help had arrived just in time. As we reached the harbor, an ambulance awaited, ready to take us to the hospital.
::
At the hospital, I paced the waiting room, my mind clouded with worry. Finally, a doctor approached, his expression reserved but reassuring.
"Detective Starsky?" he asked.
"Yeah, that's me. How is he?"
"He suffered a mild concussion and some cracked ribs, but that's the extent of it. He just needs rest and time to heal."
I let out a breath of relief. "Can I see him?"
"Of course."
I followed him to Hutch's room, my heart full up with gratitude. My partner lay on the bed, pale-faced but resting.
::
While he recovered, I waited next to his bed and reflected on Lonnie Craig, how Hutch was there for me when a lot of partners could've and would've walked away from the heat. He believed in me when a lot of people didn't.
The nurses brought me coffee and snacks, and encouraged me to take a break or two.
When he was fully awake and looking at me with a sleepy smile, I placed a small gift-wrapped box on his stomach. "Gotcha little somethin', Bronco."
"Ah, forget it, Starsk." He liked to pretend he was immune to sentimentalism, but he was the biggest softie I knew. "You shouldn't have."
"Go ahead. Open it before I do it for you."
I, on the other hand, was always excited about presents, both giving and receiving them.
His fingers picked clumsily at the ribbon and paper, and then I couldn't stand it anymore; I opened it for him.
"Hey," he said picking up the handsome brass compass I'd purchased from the gift shop. It was polished and fancy, like it could belong to the captain of a big ship. Cost a pretty penny too. "It's beautiful."
"Yeah." Nothing but the best for Hutch. "Thanks for helping me find my way."
"Starsk. You're the one who saved me, remember?"
"Nah, I mean... "
Then he got it. That I was talking about the Craig case. His eyes grew soft and loving. "You never have to thank me for that, Gordo."
the end