Sea Change (The Water Over Our Heads Remix)

It wasn’t exactly like being dropped in icy water, or taking a rubber bullet to the chest, or like having the ground yanked out from under his feet. It was like—

When Starsky was eight, back when he had still been little Davey to everyone, his mother had taken him and his brother to the beach for a treat once. He remembered the heat, and the seagulls, and the ice cream they’d gotten on the way back, but most of all he remembered a single moment in the ocean. He had been splashing around in the shallow waves and slowly wandered chest-deep into the water while his mother was fussing over Nicky. He could swim, and he wasn’t scared, and everything was fine until suddenly one of the waves had been much bigger, had bowled him over and dragged him under the surface. Then all at once there was cold, stinging water everywhere, and he couldn’t see, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move, couldn’t even tell which way was up, and his chest clenched and his muscles ached as the struggled in vain, trying to do something, anything, because he couldn’t—

And then he had been on the surface again, an there had been air and sunlight, and nothing had happened. It couldn’t have been more than a few seconds. His mother hadn’t even noticed anything was wrong. There hadn’t been anything wrong. Davey had steadied his breathing and climbed up the beach until the waves couldn’t reach more than his ankles. But he hadn’t forgotten what it had felt like, that moment under water.

That was how he felt now.

 

It had just been a look. A quick look, nothing lingering, nothing anyone would normally notice. But Starsky had seen it, and had followed it, and the cop part of his brain had registered, understood, and filed away the information as fact before the rest of his mind had a chance to catch up.

Hutch was into guys.

Except that was ridiculous. There was absolutely no evidence. No reasonable grounds for suspicion, even. Hutch has looked at a man in swimming trunks. That meant nothing. So had Starsky. Except. He had been looking to see what Hutch was looking at. No, who Hutch was looking at. Had been expecting, had been sure to see a foxy gal or two, maybe in bikinis. Because he knew that look. It was someone’s eyes, just for a moment, following a looker down the street. Or the boardwalk, in this case. He’d seen in ton Hutch too often to count, and generally found a leggy blonde at the other end of it. Except. This time, it had been a beach-blond hunk in dangerously tight trunks.

He could have been wrong. Hutch could have been looking at someone else, or thinking about something else, or… any number of things. It was a ridiculous conclusion to leap to from catching just a glimpse of an expression on someone’s face. His mind clung to that fact.

But the rest of him felt his feet swept out from under him, the wall of water slam into his chest, and the world turn upside down.

 

He kept an eye out, after that. Carefully, of course, but steadily. It could have been a fluke, after all. Just one of those things that happened once in a blood moon or something.

Except, it wasn’t. Now that he knew what to look for, now that he was paying attention, it was right there, visible to anyone. Or, okay, maybe not to anyone, and not all the time, either. But it was there. On the street, when they were cursing along with an eye out for trouble, at Huggy’s after work, even in the city library one time.

Hutch probably didn’t even know he was doing it. But Starsky did, now. And didn’t know what to do. Or if he could do it. Didn’t even know where they stood anymore. Or what else was out there, just waiting to hit him.

How had he not known?

Sure, Hutch liked plants a little too much, and wore an apron when he was cooking, and he kept trying out weir new diets… but that was just Hutch. It didn’t mean anything. Did it? Hutch was weird, in that special Hutch way, but underneath it all, he was a mostly normal guy. He’d always been so sure of that. As sure as he’d been that he knew Hutch inside out and upside down and could find his way around him in the dark with his eyes closed.

What else was he wrong about?

“What’s up with you?”

Starsky blinked, dragged up out of his thoughts and back into the passenger seat of the hunk of rusting metal Hutch called a car. “Huh?”

“You look like someone just told you it’s not storks that bring the babies.”

“Oh.” He tried to find something else to day somewhere in the chaos of his thoughts.

“So?” Hutch asked, working the steering wheel to make a tight corner.

“Well, I was just thinking, you know how sometimes you get cats that are raised by dogs, of sheep that are raised by goats, or things like that? And then they end up thinking they’re really dogs or goats? Do you think that some of the pets that get raised by humans think they’re really humans?”

“Why? Trying to explain something in your family tree?” Hutch raised a haughty eyebrow in exactly the way Starsky had known he would. Somewhere inside him, some of the dark swirling let up.

“I’m serious. Can you imagine, them thinking their whole life they’re one thing, when really they’re something else? It’s gotta make you wonder.” He let the silence hang for just a moment before he added, “D’you think there’s ever been a really smart chimp or something, maybe at the zoo, who tried to do his own taxes?”

Hutch nearly choked on his laugh, and shot Starsky a look that took the icy floods inside him in a whole new direction.

 

They were lucky, Starsky thought, that this was going to be just a bust. Nothing complicated, no characters to play, just spend an evening or two at a fancy disco and be ready to hump at Bernhardt’s signal. They would just be the backup. All they’d have to do was blend in with the crowd. That was good. Undercover work had a way of messing with your head, and he didn’t need any help with that at the moment. He felt jittery anyway, and paced around the apartment looking for busywork while he waited for Hutch.

He had questions. He needed answers. But he wasn’t sure he wanted them.

He threw the door open a little too quickly when the know finally came, judging from Hutch’s expression.

“So, what’s the big secret?” Hutch pushed the door shut behind him, and Starsky’s stomach leapt. “Why’d I have to be here half an hour early?”

“It’s for tonight. I was thinking, we gotta blend in, right? And that Seasick place isn’t our usual kind of dive.”

“CeCirque,” Hutch corrected. “And it’s still only a disco. Just because the people who go there think they’re better doesn’t mean they actually are. In fact—”

“Sure, sure,” Starsky waved his hand, staving off a Hutch rant. “But we gotta look like we’re the kind of people that go there and think like that, don’t we?”

“I suppose. Where are you headed with this?”

“I got us something. Wait here a second.” Starsky dashed into the bedroom, where he’d stashed his newest acquisitions. He’d had Huggy direct him to the best store, and boy had it been worth it. It was a little uncomfortable, getting himself into the extra-tight jeans, but they’d mold themselves to him soon enough. The shirt was tight, too, but not too bad, especially when he left it half unbuttoned. That was the way the lovely ladies at the store had liked it best on him, anyway. It was a dark midnight blue with some kind of tiny metallic threads woven in that sparkled like far away stars when he moved. That shirt had gotten him three phone numbers, and an angry glare from someone’s husband. But now came the real test.

“What do you think?” he asked, keeping his eyes carefully on Hutch’s face as he stepped back out.

And there it was. It was a quick thing, just a brief flash before Hutch’s eyes came back up into a more critical appraisal of his outfit, but it had been there, and it had been unmistakable, at least to Starsky.

So now he knew. And that had to be good. Even if it felt more like he’d taken another face full of sea water.

What now? Well. So Hutch had looked. Starsky had asked him to, hadn’t he? Couldn’t blame a guy for that. It didn’t mean anything. Not anything he didn’t already know, anyway. After all, it wasn’t vanity that told him he looked good. Strangers’ eyes followed him often enough. Not as often as they followed Hutch’s golden-boy glow, but they did. And it wasn’t always just women. It didn’t mean anything more than that.

“Going all-out, huh?” Hutch raised his eyebrows at him. “Sure you can run in those pants?”

Well, now he was just going for insulting. But at least that was a distraction. “What do you think?” Starsky scowled.

Hutch hat the decency to look a little ashamed. “It’s good,” he said, grudgingly. “You’ll look right at home.”

“Great,” Starsky grinned. “‘Cause I got you something, too.”

Hutch accepted the pile of fabric with a worried look that only got worse as he shook out the glittering material. “Starsk, I’m not sure—”

“C’mon, try it on.” He’d known it would be perfect for Hutch the moment he saw it. Flashier than what he usually wore, but in a good way.

Hutch sighed, but pulled of his plaid shirt and shrugged into the golden one. And Starsky had been right. it highlighted his complexion, added a glow to his hair, and made the blue of his eyes stand out. Oh yeah, there were going to be plenty of ladies eager to give him their attention, if Starsky was any judge. Maybe not only ladies, if what Starsky had heard about that place was true. The thought tasted like saltwater in his mouth.

 

CeCirque had turned out to be even flashier than Starsky had imagined. Colorful moving lights were everywhere, making the place difficult to see in despite the overall brightness. The inside was huge, and packed full of people dancing, drinking, trying to should over the heavy beat of the music, clamoring for attention at the bar, and standing or sitting at tables further back. At one end a large, raised stage was decorated with so much gold that Hutch’s shirt could have worked as camouflage.

The crowd was a very mixed one. Black, white, men, women, and some people where Starsky wasn’t sure, in all kinds of different pairs and groups on the dance floor. There wasn’t much of a way to stand out here, short of maybe showing up in a suit and tie. Very good, for their purposes.

They steered clear of the worst of the crush and secured a table with a good view of the half-hidden door by the side of the stage. Those back rooms were where the deal was going to go down, according to Bernhardt and Dittler. And it was looking to be the biggest drug bust of the year. The only question was when. Today or tomorrow, most likely, maybe the day after if there was a delay. They couldn’t risk spooking anyone too early, so now a dozen cops were distributed across the room, with more in unmarked cars outside, all waiting for Bernhardt’s signal. And trying to look inconspicuous in the mean time.

Starsky saved their table while Hutch went to get them drinks. He spotted Simmons at another table a bit further along, and Marcelli in with the dancing crowd, carefully never quite turning his back on the all-important door.

Two colorful cocktails clinked down on the table in front of him, announcing Hutch. “Virgin,” he mouthed when Starsky turned around. Starsky was grateful. Not that he would have doubted it, normally, but… Every but of certainty was good.

“You or me?” Hutch asked, tilting his head towards the dance floor.

Starsky shrugged, and Hutch gave him a slightly worried look before nodding and and maneuvering his was into the mass of dancers. His shirt made him easier to track than he would have been otherwise, even in the general colorful glitter of the crowd. He danced less stiffly than Marcelli, looking natural to anyone who didn’t know him well. Trusting Starsky to have it covered if he took his eyes off the door every few moments. Before long, he had moved into a good position near the stage and acquired a dance partner or three. Starsky tried not to wonder if the flashes of long hair he could see mean they were women.

He divided his attention between Hutch and the door, and tried not to think too much, until Hutch dropped into the chair next to his again and reached for his drink, looking flushed and sweaty, and like someone enjoying a good night out. They sat like that for a few minutes, before his pent-up edginess got too much for Starsky.

His turn now, anyway. He let his gaze drift across the room until he caught and held the eye of a dark-haired woman dancing in a group at the edge of the dance floor. They had this routine down, so Hutch waved him towards the dance floor in an I’ll-be-fine-on-my-own kind of way, and Starsky slid out of his chair and swaggered towards the ladies. He didn’t have to turn around to know Hutch’s was tracking him.

Hutch was a good dancer when the circumstances were right, but Starsky was better, and he never said no to an opportunity to show it. It wasn’t exactly a competition, but he liked to keep Hutch on his toes.

He could feel Hutch’s eyes on him now, and grinned as he added an extra swing to his movements. And wasn’t that good? He liked having Hutch’s attention, and it wasn’t— well, it wasn’t anything that it wasn’t. There was no reason that needed to change. Unless, for Hutch, it was something else? But that couldn’t be. It would mean— It would mean a lot of things that this wasn’t the right time or place to be thinking about. He had to focus back on the job, on watching for Bernhardt’s signal.

“Anything?” he asked, when he dropped back into his seat a long while later.

Hutch gave him a strange look, and Starsky realized too late that he’d been expecting a quip about dancing, or something – anything – that wasn’t all business. But Hutch only shook his head. “No movement, except that they’re getting the stage show ready.”

He was right. As Starsky watched, the lighting shifted, yellow glowing panels appeared on the floor and edges of the stage, and several spot lights hit it from above. A new song started low, and got louder as a man strutted into the central spotlight. All he was wearing were tight, golden jockeys and a lot of glitter than showed off his sculpted body, and Starsky glanced over at Hutch just in time to see that look again.

It shouldn’t have been a surprise. Even Starsky had to admit that the guy had a great body, and that he definitely knew how to move it. Anyone who liked guys was bound to get a little distracted. He should have been getting used to it by now. It shouldn’t have felt so– anything. Still, somehow, every time Hutch looked that way at a guy, it was another ocean wave trying to flatten him.

And then Hutch turned his head, mouth already half-open to make some comment, and caught whatever must have been showing clearly on Starsky’s face. He froze, and so did Starsky, icy water creeping up towards his lungs.

Something flitted across Hutch’s face, there and gone again too fast to name. And was replaced with the look of a Hutch going into battle, staring down the barrel of a gun, determined not to let the punk on the other end it it see fear, and that was all wrong, so wrong, and—

“Bernhardt,” Starsky hissed, his mouth reacting ahead of his brain. “That’s the signal! We gotta move.”

 

Starsky shivered as the cool night air dried his sweat, and massaged the ache in his shoulder. He didn’t have much to complain about, all things considered. Aside from a few bruises, the bust had come off perfectly. Suspects, drugs, and money all safely in custody, and not a single shot fired. And all being taken in and booked or logged by someone else. No paperwork for him and Hutch tonight. As soon as Hutch finished helping Dittler with the last of the perps, they were free to get some rest.

Hah. As if that was going to happen. He rubbed his arms, watched Hutch wave Dittler off, and set out across the parking lot towards Hutch’s car.

“We got tomorrow off,” Hutch said, falling into step beside him and tugging at the sleeves of his shirt.

Starsky nodded. He’d been expecting that.

“Still. We should probably get some sleep.”

They reached the car, and Hutch fished in his pockets for the keys, a picture of barely-restrained tension from his tapping fingers to his carefully controlled breathing.

Starsky gave him a look. “You’re wired for sound.”

“So are you.” Hutch half-glared, daring him to make something of it.

Starsky shrugged. No point denying it. “So let’s do something.”

“Okay,” Hutch said, and opened the door.

Starsky didn’t ask where they were going. He looked out the passenger window and watched the lights flash by through the darkness. He wanted to move. He wanted to do something, say something, kick his legs and push forward. But he supposed now was the time for thinking.

He knew where they were as soon as Hutch slowed down, and if he’d needed confirmation, it hit him in the form of familiar salty air when he opened the door. He didn’t say anything, just followed Hutch out, off the parking lot and onto the sand until they were walking along the edge of the water, and the lights behind them were fading into the distance. Then they slowed to a stop, and stood, looking out over the dark ocean and listening to the waves.

After a while, Hutch sighed. “Just say it.”

“Say what?”

“Whatever it is.”

Starsky rubbed his arms. “I don’t know yet.”

He felt Hutch look at him, quietly. “Out of your depth?”

“Something like that.”

Hutch didn’t say anything for a while, and went back to staring at the water. “Want to go for a swim?”

That was crazy enough to make Starsky stare at him. “It’ll be freezing.”

Hutch shrugged, and kept his eyes on the waves. Starsky closed his, then tilted his head back and looked up at the sky. The night was clear, and the stars twinkled.

“It’s not a small thing, you know.”

Hutch sighed again. “It could be.”

“Hutch.” Starsky took Hutch’s elbow, held on and waited until Hutch finally turned to look at him. Until he caught up.

Hutch let out a long breath. “So.”

“Yeah.”

“Deeper waters than you were expecting, huh?”

Starsky snorted. “You can say that again. And don’t tell me the water’s fine once you get used to it.”

“I haven’t drowned yet.”

“Guess you’re a good swimmer.” He wanted to look away, back at the water, but he didn’t. He did let his hand drop.

“It’s not so hard,” Hutch said quietly. “Once you know the basics.”

Starsky said nothing. He found that hard to believe.

Hutch caught his look, and smiled just a little. “I promise. It’s easier than some things we do.”

Starsky repressed the urge to snort again, and let his eyes drift to the dark sea. The crash and spray of water was loud in his ears. It made him want to run, or swim, for his life. “Tell me that when I’m not being turned upside down by killer waves, maybe.”

“There’s a trick to swimming through waves, you know,” Hutch offered, and Starsky dragged his eyes back. “You’ve just got to close your eyes and an dive underneath them.”

“Just like that, huh?”

Hutch said nothing, just held his gaze.

“Yeah,” Starsky said, “okay.” And he closed his eyes and took a deep breath as Hutch leaned in.

Then there was Hutch’s hand around his shoulder, and Hutch’s mouth on his, and he felt his muscles slowly relax as the crashing sound in his ears faded into the distance and the world seemed to slowly turn right-side-up again. And there was just Hutch, the growing warmth and steady feel of him, until he finally had to come up for air. But somehow, the air had gotten easier to breathe, too. Hutch was still there, arms around him, holding off the stormy sea.

“Guess I’ll be getting good at swimming,” he said, and watched the smile spread slowly across Hutch’s face before diving back in.