Chapter Three

 

At four that afternoon, as the storm was starting to dissipate, McGruder got the call from County General.  The ambulance had been freed from the interstate pileup and dispatched to meet them at the south fork’s boat landing.  Starsky had seemed to rally a bit after sleeping through the rest of the morning into the early afternoon, and was able to walk cautiously to the jeep with Hutch’s grip steadying him.  The ranger had hooked up the boat trailer at first light, so all that was left to do was load up its passengers for the trek to the upstream landing of the still raging river. 

 

The ride was mostly silent, aside from Richie’s occasional fussing.  Hutch kept a cautious eye on Starsky, frowning as his partner closed his eyes against the pain that shot through him with every jarring movement of the jeep, regardless of how cautious McGruder drove.  When Richie began to complain more, Hutch occupied him by quietly singing a children’s song about love and ladybugs.  The blond flushed deeply when both Starsky and the ranger joined Richie in applauding at the end of the song, and he gave his partner a withering look when asked if he took requests.

 

“You can take your request, pal, and—”

 

“We’re here,” McGruder interrupted.  The two men in the back seat looked ahead through the glistening windshield to the river before them.  Swollen twice its normal size, the river pushed angrily over the embankments to the roadway, whitecaps churning with storm debris.  McGruder confirmed via the radio that the ambulance was in place downstream at the next landing, then swung the jeep in a tight circle, backing the trailer into the turbulent water where the boat ramp should have been.

 

Hutch turned back to his partner, concern darkening his eyes.  “It’s gonna be all right.”

 

Starsky met the worried gaze calmly, knowing that the confidence he had in his partner would be evident there.  Hutch nodded once, then got out of the jeep to help McGruder unload the whaler. 

 

Starsky took as deep a breath as he could manage and exhaled, grimacing at the pull on his muscles.  Looking down at the wide-eyed toddler, he smiled and did his best Bogey.  “Well, it’s just you ’n me, kid.  What d’ya say we blow this joint?”

 

Richie smiled and grabbed Starsky by the nose, laughing.

 

Hutch stuck his head in the jeep, a light rain dampening his hair to his forehead.  “You two ready?”

 

Starsky turned his face away from Richie and Hutch’s direction and coughed, wincing as he did.  Swallowing down the pain and presenting a brave front, he nodded and smiled back at the toddler.  “Piece’a cake.  Right, kid?” 

 

Hutch scrutinized his partner, seeing how the grin didn’t quite mask the tightness around his eyes, nor his pale and drawn features.  Still, he knew they were out of options.  Hutch slipped a child-sized “Mae West” life jacket around Richie and secured him as best he could.  He then pulled the toddler and his carseat out and made his way to the water’s edge where McGruder held the idling whaler close to shore, bucking against the current.  Hutch waded out to the side of the boat and placed Richie between the two front captain’s chairs.  He struggled back to the shoreline and put an arm under Starsky’s, then supported him through the churning water to the boat.  Helping his partner sit on the side of the whaler, Starsky carefully swiveled around and put his legs in, then made his way to the stern’s bench seat.  Hutch quickly followed and helped Starsky into his life vest before securing his own.   

 

With Hutch’s assistance, McGruder swung into the boat and quickly took the wheel as the forceful current pulled at the whaler, threatening to spin it into the flow.  McGruder settled into the driver’s seat and steered the small craft into the speeding waters. 

 

Minutes seemed like hours as the small craft wove its way down the churning current, rolling with each wave.  Spray from the dipping boat joined with the rainfall to soak the four passengers.

 

“How long did you say this cruise lasts?” Starsky asked after fifteen minutes of the rough passage.  Hutch noticed that his partner’s face had paled even further, and his arm was clamped over his side. 

 

Hutch shook his head and turned toward McGruder.  “How long is this little tour gonna take?”

 

McGruder craned his head back and gave the partners a mischievous grin.  “It’s a ‘three-hour tour,’ little buddy…a three-hour tour…”  The ranger trailed off, singing the TV theme slightly off-key.  Both detective’s rolled their eyes, but appreciated McGruder’s attempt to alleviate some of their tension as the craft rolled downstream.

 

“T’riffic,” Starsky grumbled.  “If we get stranded on some deserted island, I got dibs on Ginger.”   

 

Hutch smiled and shook his head, but the concern never left his eyes.  Searching the icy waters around them, he could make out debris boiling alongside the small craft, pulled off from the river’s embankment.  His inspection eventually landed his gaze on Richie, the toddler was wide-eyed, nervously nursing his bottle, but not fussing as the boat rolled along, spray whipping over its side. 

 

Hutch called up to McGruder.  “This doesn’t even seem to phase Richie.”

 

The ranger glanced down at the little boy, then hollered back at Hutch.  “He comes from some pretty tough stock.  You should have seen his—”

 

A flash of movement caught Hutch’s eye.  Ahead to his left, a log came to rest with other debris, clustering against a large oak that had fallen into the river as the bank eroded, and lay submerged.  If it hadn’t been for trash and wreckage crushed against its still outstretched branches, Hutch would never have seen it.  “Off port!” 

 

McGruder’s head snapped back to the front.  He was already cranking the wheel a hard right to miss the snare.  Even still, the whaler ran into one of the tree’s branches, and the bow of the boat reared into the air and turned against the thrust.

 

Luck was with them as the craft slapped back down into the water rather than flipping onto its back, as it easily could have.  Still, Richie’s carseat bounced out of the secure space between the captain’s chairs, sending McGruder lunging for it and snagging it before it slid more than a few feet. 

 

The recoil had thrown Starsky forward into the small space between his bench seat and the captain’s chairs.  Hutch leapt after his partner, not realizing he was safe, when a second wave hit the small craft, listing it again to the right. 

 

Starsky felt rather than saw his partner stumble and flip over the side of the boat.  Instinct shot his arm toward Hutch, and he was rewarded with a handful of flannel.  The momentum of Hutch’s weight rolled him onto his side and slid him to the hull of the boat. 

 

Hutch felt the shock of the icy waters steal his breath away as he slammed over the side.  He wasn’t at all prepared for the force that bounced him back against the whaler, not allowing him to slip under or have the current drag him quickly downstream.  Hutch latched onto the vice-like grip holding him by the front of his shirt, then kicked his legs to turn himself around in order to grab hold of the boat.  He was startled, but not surprised, to see the pale face of his partner grimacing down at him.

 

The whaler bounced again against a dip in the river, and Hutch felt his grip on the wet side of the boat slip.  Just as his fingers were about to lose contact, Starsky’s bloodied right hand clamped around Hutch’s wrist and tried to draw him back through the current.  Starsky’s eyes widened at the searing pain of the already frayed muscles tearing further.  Hutch kicked hard, trying desperately to propel himself closer, but the water seemed almost desperate to claim him and drag him under.

 

He kicked out again, fear for his partner propelling him marginally forward.  Starsky closed his eyes against the agony pounding through his abdomen, his jaws dancing beneath the skin as he gritted his teeth.  A growl came from him as he pulled again, frustrated with his growing weakness and the seemingly increasing fury of the river.  Just as Starsky felt his energy finally giving way, McGruder leaned over the side of the hull and latched on to Hutch’s forearm, adding his strength to the other failing men.  With the added effort, Hutch was quickly pulled to the whaler, then over its side, where he collapsed onto the floor, Starsky kneeling wearily beside him.  McGruder immediately slid back into the captain’s chair and gained control of the weaving boat as the river continued to push them downstream. 

 

“Helluva time to go for a swim, Hutchinson!” McGruder shouted over Richie’s wailing. 

 

Starsky looked up from where he’d been clasping his side, breathing heavily against the exertion.  “Richie all right?”

 

“Yeah, just scared the crap out of him!”

 

Starsky looked down at his sodden partner lying on his back with his palms pressed into his forehead, trying to catch his breath.  “I know the feeling.”

 

The brunet reached out to touch the new bruise on side of Hutch’s jaw, earned when he flipped over the side.  “You okay?”

 

Hutch grasped the bloody hand extended toward him and quickly sat up, just as Starsky pitched forward.  Gathering the other to him, Hutch pulled back the quilted shirt, finding the sweatshirt underneath drenched in blood.  “Dammit, Starsk!”

 

Starsky stirred as Hutch pulled up the second shirt.  “What was I supposed to do, let you float away?”

 

Hutch sighed in affectionate exasperation as he pressed the cloth back against the cut.  “You could have.”

 

“Nah, not when I’ve finally got you broken in.”  Starsky’s breath hissed as Hutch applied greater pressure to the seeping wound.  Wearily, Starsky gave in to the pain and laid his head upon Hutch’s chest, too tired to move. 

 

“We keep this up, and Bob’s gonna think we’re weird.”

 

Starsky chuckled marginally.  “Let him wonder.  I don’t think I could move if I tried.”

 

Hutch’s free arm joined the first at the wound, effectively encircling his partner.  The move wasn’t necessary for adding pressure against the cut, but its proclamation was loud and clear: Me and Thee.

 

˜ ™

 

The ambulance ride to County General had passed in a haze for its passengers.  The small group was grateful that the storm was reduced to mere showers en route, allowing for greater speed and safety on the roads. 

 

Meeting them at the hospital was a distraught Corporal Brad Thompson, weeping openly as he took the waterlogged toddler from McGruder’s arms.  The ranger and a nurse then led the young widower into a room for the staff pediatrician to give Richie a thorough exam before releasing him to his father’s care.  The corporal wept again as the ranger explained to him how they had had to leave Janie’s body behind at the ranger station, and the plans to recover it. 

 

Hutch had sat wearily outside the post-op, waiting for word on his partner, when the thunder began its litany once more.  Won’t this storm ever end?  Within a few hours, the on-call surgeon emerged to find an exhausted Hutch and McGruder sitting numbly on the hard plastic chairs, nursing cold coffee.  The relief in the blond detective’s eyes was substantial when the doctor assured them that Starsky was in stable condition, having come through the surgery fine, and would be in recovery for an hour or so more before being moved to a private room.

 

When his partner was finally settled on the second floor, Hutch gratefully sank into the worn chair pulled up next to Starsky’s bed.  Kicking off his still drying shoes and propping his feet up on the bed rail, Hutch groaned as he stretched, and crossed his arms over his chest.

 

When the duty nurse came to check on Starsky’s sutures and IV, she found the two men soundly asleep, snoring in an odd kind of nasal harmony.  The woman smiled fondly as she picked up the still damp, discarded shoes and placed them on the register to dry.  A blanket was draped over the man in the chair, and with a smile, she left the room.

 

˜ ™

 

Two mornings later, the detectives were sitting on the side of Starsky’s bed arguing good-naturedly when Corporal Brad Thompson knocked shyly on the doorframe of the room, Richie dozing on his shoulder.  Hutch stood and immediately crossed the room to meet the younger man, shaking his hand in warm sympathy and introducing himself and Starsky.

 

Starsky, in turn, greeted him and shook the soldier’s hand.  After a harsh cough, he smiled apologetically and tried to get a better look at Richie’s face.

 

In response to Starsky’s obvious desire to see that the boy was truly all right, Thompson turned so the detective could see his son’s peaceful face for himself.  “Bob told me all about what happened when Janie…at the accident.  Doc says Richie’s fine.  No concussion, no dehydration.  He’s been pretty fussy, though.  I think it’s because he misses…”  The younger man trailed off, unshed tears closing off his throat.  “I’m sorry…”

 

Hutch reached out and gripped his arm.  “It’s okay, we understand.”

 

Misplaced anger blazed in Thompson’s eyes, as his head snapped up at the detective.  “Do you?” he challenged.

 

Starsky’s exhalation set him to coughing, but he waved off Hutch’s move to support the still healing muscles.  After a moment, he met Hutch’s gaze.  There was no anger or defensiveness in either of their eyes.  “Yes, actually, we do.”

 

“Here, sit.”  Hutch pulled up the visitor’s chair for the soldier and motioned him down, as he sat back on the bed next to Starsky. 

 

Thompson shifted Richie and burrowed his face in his son’s hair.  “You don’t understand,” he ground out, his anguish tearing from him.  “It’s my fault she’s dead.”

 

The young widower looked desperately from one man to the other, guilt radiating off of him.  “She died because of me.  If I hadn’t been such a jerk, we never would have fought, and she never would have left and come up here to think.  It’s my fault!” 

Hutch studied his hands for a moment, as the tears Thompson had been holding back finally made their way down his cheeks.  “We do understand, Brad.  Both of us, because we’ve both been right where you are now.”

 

Starsky picked up the thought when Hutch’s voice became tight.  “You see, Hutch and me, we’ve both been very lucky to fall in love with some incredible ladies with lousy taste in men.”  His partner’s eyes were bright when they met Starsky’s.  “But what we do—being cops—means our lives are, well, sometimes things get…beyond our control.”

 

Hutch looked at his partner, remembering more than the deaths of Terry and Gillian.  “And sometimes the people we love get hurt because of it.”

 

Starsky understood all the unspoken words the blue eyes conveyed.  “But we keep on doing it, because, well, that’s what we are.  Sometimes it hurts like hell, but we can’t give in; we can’t let them win.  Me and Hutch, we lost our ladies because of what we do, what we are.  And there’s not a day that goes by that we don’t remember that.”

 

Thompson slowly looked from one man to the other.  “So…how do you live with that?  How do I go on, knowing that?” 

 

Starsky placed his hand on the sleeping toddler’s blond hair.  “You go on because of him.”

 

Hutch leaned forward, but looked past the father and son in the chair.  “You go on because of love.  You go on because he needs you.” 

 

“And because she would want you to.  It’s like, as long as you go on living…well, a piece of her does, too.”  Richie woke at the sound of the voices above him and smiled drowsily at Starsky.  A small hand reached up and grabbed the detective by the nose.

 

The three men chuckled as Richie began “talking” to them, babbling on at a high speed.  Corporal Thompson sighed and stood, slinging the toddler into a secure position on his hip.  “Well, I better get going.  Janie’s parents are expecting me.  I…I want to thank you for all you’ve done.  I know you did all you could for her, and for Richie.  I owe you my son’s life.”

 

Hutch stood and helped Starsky to his feet.  The two shook Thompson’s hand and said their good-byes to Richie.  Starsky stiffly made his way to the room’s sole window, the sunlight that flooded through the panes warming him and causing him to squint.  “Think they’ll be okay?”

 

“I think so, but it’ll be a rough road.”  Hutch joined him at the window, both taken by the sun’s rays streaming through the few remaining clouds.  “The storm’s over.”

 

Silence held them for a moment, the two lost in shared memories.  Starsky finally spoke.  “Hutch?”

 

“Yeah?”

 

Starsky turned to face his partner.  “Thanks.” 

 

He didn’t have to elaborate, Hutch knew, as he always did, what was left unspoken. 

 

“Yeah.  Me, too.”