Disclaimer: I do not own the characters of this work of fiction, and am not making any profit from the writing of this.
A/N: Written for hc_bingo, prompt word was drowning - request was made by suerum.
Reviews are greatly appreciated.
Thomas Magnum was not one to sit by and idly watch when others were in danger. He was quick to act, sometimes a little too quick, which is why he was in his current predicament – head bobbing just above the ocean's waters, left arm wrapped around a twenty-something year old kid's chest as he tried to keep the both of them afloat.
The kid, dark-haired and slim, was definitely from the mainland. The Pacific Ocean and tourists were not a good combination on the best of days, add an unseasonably high tide and the mixture was deadly. By the looks of the kid – skin red and blistered from too much exposure to the Hawaiian sun – he didn't spend a lot of time outdoors, and definitely did not spend much time in the water.
He couldn't ask the kid any questions about how he'd come to be so far out in the ocean because he'd lost consciousness shortly after Magnum had pulled him, sputtering and flailing, up above the surface of the water. The kid had fought him at first, his mind screaming 'danger,' and causing his body to respond by fighting as the option of fleeing was not available. The kid's elbow had caught him in the nose, hard, and, though it wasn't bleeding, the way it was throbbing to the beat of his heart, he knew that it was swollen and that he'd be sporting an impressive set of black eyes as a result of the unintentional assault.
In the end, he had no other choice than to apply pressure to the back of the young man's neck and temporarily knock him out. That was when Magnum had thought he could return to the shore in a relatively short period of time, before the ocean had swelled and the water had grown choppy. Soon the waves were crashing over their heads and it was taking all of Magnum's strength just to make sure that, after the waves crashed, they came back up to the surface of the water, both of them still breathing.
It was summer, and the waters off of Waikiki were normally calm this time of year. There'd been no warning of a storm front coming in when Magnum had left the estate this morning to work on a case, so it must've come upon the islands suddenly.
It was just a little past noon, and the sun was hot, beaming down on them. He was thankful that he'd applied sunblock before he'd left, though he knew that being in the ocean – the water reflecting the sun like a powerful mirror– he'd still burn, though not as bad as the kid who had already been overexposed.
"Hang in there kid," Magnum said, after another wave had tossed them a few feet toward the shore only to pull them further out into the depths of the ocean with the backwash. "Just keep breathing."
Jason Morgan was not a man who liked hanging out at beaches. He didn't enjoy swimming either. Which made his current set of circumstances particularly ironic. If he hadn't been tag-teamed by Spinelli and Diane both, he would not be sitting on one of the most crowded beaches on the island of Oahu, waiting for his new partner – he'd left Sonny and joined Spinelli and Sam's private detective agency shortly after his former boss had gone off the deep end over Todd Manning.
He applied another thick layer of sunscreen to his face, neck, arms and legs. No way was he going shirtless, though he had conceded to Spinelli's suggestion that he forgo his typical black tee-shirt for a white one, and he was wearing the ridiculous board shorts that Spinelli had purchased for him shortly after they'd arrived on the island. They were white and decorated with some sort of red flower that he'd forgotten the name of almost as soon as Spinelli had told him.
He sighed and cupped a hand over his eyes, hoping to catch sight of his partner who had decided to take paddleboarding lessons instead of the surfing lessons that he'd initially wanted to take. Jason had opted to wait on the shore for his partner. He didn't want to return to Port Charles without at least getting a decent tan to show for it, knowing that, even with a liberal application of sunscreen, the Hawaiian sun would still bronze him.
He frowned when he saw that Spinelli's instructor was now working with a couple, and that there was no sign of his friend on the beach or in the ocean. Spinelli had, for all intents and purposes, disappeared, and, without saying a word to him about it.
He shook his head and settled back onto his towel, vowing to confront Spinelli about it once the young man had returned from wherever it was that he had gone. Just because they were in 'paradise' did not mean that they could let their guard down. Sonny might be gunning for him, in spite of the almost amicable severing of their professional ties.
It was imperative that neither of them went anywhere alone without telling the other man first. He'd thought that Spinelli had understood that, but apparently the young man had forgotten, which was typical Spinelli. He was, more often than not, kind and way too forgiving, particularly where he and Sonny were concerned.
Sometimes Jason hated the pedestal that Spinelli had set him on. He wasn't perfect by any stretch of the imagination, and yet Spinelli worshiped him and wanted to be just like him. He didn't want that for the younger man. He didn't want Spinelli to lose his sense of fair play and integrity, or to become cynical like he was. It wouldn't suit him, and it worried Jason whenever Spinelli sought him out for advice or lamented his perceived weaknesses – his lack of physical strength and his inability to fight off a foe that was bigger and stronger.
No matter what Jason said to dissuade him from this way of thinking, Spinelli just didn't seem to hear him, and the pedestal was raised another notch. It was a wonder that he didn't suffer nosebleeds from being so high up on that pedestal of Spinelli's.
Jason fell into a comfortable doze. It was a little after ten, they'd gotten to the beach early, at Spinelli's insistence. The sun wasn't as hot at this time of day, but the beach was crowded by the time they'd walked over from their hotel room at eight.
It wasn't until Jason's stomach began to growl that he realized it was nearing noon, and that Spinelli still had not returned from wherever it was that he had gone. It wasn't like the young man to be gone for so long without checking in with him, and now he began to worry.
A quick look at his watch revealed that it was already past eleven thirty, and he sat up on his elbows, scowling when a dark-haired man ran past him, kicking up sand. He brushed the sand off, and yawned, his eyes inadvertently following the man who dove into the ocean, which had taken on a vastly different appearance since the last time Jason had set eyes on it. Where it had once been turquoise and relatively calm, with the occasional wave now and then, it was choppy and steel gray in color. The sky was still overly sunny, though, giving everything a rather bizarre appearance. It was disconcerting.
Jason's heart skipped a beat when he saw that the man was swimming with long, broad strokes out toward the middle of the ocean where another man was flailing – his head dropping beneath the waters and popping back up again. In an instant, he was on his feet, his heart lurching in his chest.
'Spinelli!'his mind supplied, but his feet refused to move, and he could only watch in mounting horror as the man who'd run past him raced out to help his drowning friend. He couldn't help but think that it should be him swimming out there to rescue Spinelli, but he knew that he'd only be a liability because he was only a fair swimmer at best. He'd never swum in the ocean before. His only experience with swimming had been in pools.
The waves seemed to grow in size even as he watched. He stood there, at the edge of the shore, water lapping at his feet, wondering how he had gotten there because he didn't remember walking toward the ocean at all. He felt foolish and weak and finally understood how Spinelli felt around him – incompetent and feeble. Though, if it was up to him, Spinelli would never feel that way about himself ever again, because it hurt like a physical pain.
A siren sounded, but Jason ignored it, his eyes were fixated on the man swimming out to save Spinelli. To save the man that he should be saving. He felt like he was drowning, unable to breathe past the tightness in his chest as he watched Spinelli disappear beneath the waves and not resurface for the span of several rib-breaking heartbeats.
"Sir."
Someone pulled at his arm, but he shook the man off, his attention momentarily diverted from the ocean. When he whirled around, he couldn't see either Spinelli or the man who'd swum out to rescue him.
"Sir, we need to evacuate the beach," the man, a lifeguard, said. "A tropical storm's coming in."
"My friend's out there," Jason said, pointing to where he'd last seen Spinelli. "Someone swam out there to rescue him." He doesn't add, 'where the hell were you?' though he wants to.
"We'll send a rescue boat out there, but you need to leave." The lifeguard reached for his arm, but Jason turned to glare at him.
"I'm not going anywhere until you get my friend, and the man who swam out to save him, out of the ocean."
The storm front came in quicker than Magnum had anticipated, and the sun all but disappeared behind darkening clouds. Rain, pinprick droplets, began to fall and the ocean seemed to surge beneath them, lifting them up and up and up. Magnum's heart dropped as he realized that the lifeguard boat he'd seen just a few minutes ago would have a difficult time finding them in the rain.
He tightened his grip on the kid and sent a silent prayer to his father for help, because his legs were starting to cramp, and he didn't know how much longer he'd be able to keep treading water. He'd taken in mouthfuls of the cold, briny liquid, and his throat ached with thirst. His nose was sore, and he could only breathe through his mouth, which made swallowing more of the ocean inevitable. If he wasn't careful, he'd end up drowning too.
It was impossible for him to see where the shore was through the rain, and he was no longer certain that he was still facing it. He'd been turned around by the tumultuous waters more times than he could keep track of, and his strength was flagging.
"I could use a little help here, Dad," he said through lips that had gone numb with cold.
Just because it was summer did not mean that the waters were warm, especially not this far out in the ocean. People who went out this far typically wore wetsuits to keep warm, but neither he nor the man he'd swum out to rescue was wearing anything remotely warm.
Spinelli was dizzy, and his head hurt, and something was binding across his chest. He wanted to push it off of him, because it made it hard for him to breathe, but his arms refused to move. It was as he was trying to kick away from whatever was clinging to him that he realized his eyes were closed. When he opened them, he wished that he'd kept them closed as they were immediately pummeled by water that stung, and he couldn't see anything.
He blinked, hoping that it would improve his vision, but it didn't, and that's when he became aware that he was floating, and he remembered, vaguely, what had happened. How he'd been swept out into the ocean by wave after wave. How his voice had been drowned out by the roar of the ocean and the multitude of swimmers when he'd attempted to call for help. It had been terrifying, and he'd panicked as he was pulled out further and further and the shore had started to disappear.
He'd choked on seawater when he opened his mouth to shout for help, swallowing more and more of the salty water when he was pulled beneath the surface again and again. He knew his brain was being deprived of oxygen, sparkling dots crowded his vision, and that it was only a matter of time before he sunk down into the depths of the ocean never to resurface again.
His thoughts had turned to Stone Cold, and he hoped that the man would forgive him, that he wouldn't blame himself for his protégé's untimely demise. He hoped that Stone Cold would return to Port Charles and find comfort in his family and friends, that Sam would be able to console him. Not that the man would grieve him for long, Spinelli wasn't one of the people he valued like family.
It was as he was accepting his fate, embracing the pull of the ocean, letting it lull him into a peaceful sleep that he felt a pull in the opposite direction, and he was brought up, sputtering, ocean water spilling from his mouth and being expelled from his lungs.
Confused, he remembered fighting whatever foe it was that had robbed him of his tranquility, striking out with every ounce of energy that he had left. And then, there was darkness, so complete, that Spinelli assumed the ocean had won, and he'd been okay with that.
"Easy there," a voice spoke beside his ear. "I've got you."
"Stone Cold?" Spinelli asked, grasping the arm that was strapped across his chest with fingers that he couldn't quite feel.
"I know it's cold," the voice said, "but we're going to get out of here soon."
"What happened?"
"You got swept away by the ocean's current, and I swam out to rescue you, but we got caught in a storm. I'm sorry."
The man reminds him so much of Stone Cold, but Spinelli knows that it isn't his mentor who's come to his rescue. Stone Cold hadn't even known that he was out there in the first place.
Everywhere he looked there was ocean. He could see nothing but water, and panic settled itself in his chest like an old friend. He couldn't help it, he started pulling at the man's arm, wanting, needing to be free. He had to get out of the water because if he didn't it would try to swallow him again.
"Stop that," the man said, "I've got you, you're safe."
"I have to get out of the water. It's eating me. Help me, someone help me."
Part of his mind registered that he was being irrational, but he could not control the panic, and the words tumbled out of his mouth in spite of the rational part of his brain telling him that he was being rescued, that the man, while not Stone Cold, holding him, was trying to save his life.
"Calm down. I've got you," the man promised.
"I want to get out of here. Please let me out," Spinelli begged, wondering why the man insisted upon keeping him there, holding him so tightly, not letting him breathe.
"I'm trying to get you out of here." The man's voice sounded sad, as though he was breaking some sort of promise.
"Please let me go, let me go!"
"I can't."
Jason refused to let the rescue boat go without him. He needed to be there, needed to make sure that they found Spinelli, alive. He'd donned the lifejacket without grumbling and sat in the middle of the speedboat, in spite of his desire to sit on the edge of it like the lifeguards who were acting as lookouts.
Precious minutes had passed without sighting anything, and the sky grew darker by the second. Rain poured down on them, obscuring their vision, and Jason's heart sunk when the lifeguards exchanged a look.
"You see anything?" the driver shouted over the roar of the engine.
"No," the two lifeguards on either side of the boat said simultaneously.
"The storm's getting worse, we've got to start heading back or they'll need to send a rescue team out to save us," one of the lifeguard's said to Jason.
Jason shook head and prepared to jump out of the boat, intending upon finding Spinelli himself if the lifeguards weren't going to do their job. It was as he lurched toward the edge of the boat, that he saw something, a dark speck off to the left of the boat.
"I see something over there!" he shouted, pointing.
The lifeguard trained his binoculars in the direction that Jason had indicated and shouted for the captain to turn around, that they'd found someone. Jason didn't feel relieved; it wasn't time for that yet. He wouldn't feel relieved until Spinelli was safe. Until he could set his eyes upon him and touch him and see for himself that the young man was alive.
When they pulled up alongside the pair, Jason itched to help, but he stayed out of the way, not wanting to hinder the rescue. The man who'd risked his life to save Spinelli's pushed the young man toward them, and refused help himself until Spinelli was aboard the boat.
"Thank you," Jason said, once they were on their way back to shore, racing the storm.
The man was shivering, in spite of the blanket that had been wrapped around him. Spinelli had also been swathed in a blanket, and, while Jason wanted to do nothing more than enfold the younger man in a hug, he had to content himself with watching the lifeguards assess Spinelli and the other man.
The return to shore seemed to take forever and yet it felt like no time had passed at all before they were all tumbling out of the boat and rushing to awaiting ambulances. Jason refused to leave Spinelli's side, jumping into the back of the ambulance, still secured in the lifejacket.
The ride to the hospital was quiet. Spinelli didn't say a word, and the paramedics kept up a steady stream of words that he couldn't even begin to understand. When they arrived at the hospital, Spinelli was whisked away, and Jason was left standing in the lobby.
He suddenly felt self-conscious, still wearing the lifejacket and without even a pair of sandals on his feet. The first issue was easy to fix, and he left the lifejacket at the front desk. He bought a cheap pair of sandals at one of the hospital's gift stores, and then waited.
Pacing the halls, he thought about how he'd almost lost his best friend. Just the memory of seeing Spinelli drop from view as a wave pounded him, was enough to make Jason shudder. He'd come so close to losing him, and there hadn't been a damn thing he could do about it. Nothing, except watch as another man swam out into the ocean to save Spinelli. It should've been him swimming out to save the young man, and not a stranger.
It wasn't until hours later, when Spinelli and the man who'd rescued him, Thomas Magnum, were released, that Jason began to actually breathe again. In an uncharacteristic move, Jason pulled Spinelli to himself and hugged the other man good and long and hard. His hold on the younger man tightened when Spinelli started trembling and tears began to fall.
"It's okay," he murmured, "you're safe now."
"I thought I was dead," Spinelli said.
Spinelli clung to him, and Jason let him. He'd hold Spinelli until the younger man let go, because it was reassuring, and he'd thought he'd lost him – for good this time. It was a sobering thought, and made him rethink his position on public, and private, displays of affection.
"You're not dead, and I've got you now," Jason promised, thinking, 'and I'm never going to let you go.'
Magnum watched as Jason Morgan embraced Damian Spinelli. He didn't know what kind of relationship the two men had, but it made him think, once again, of his father, and he envied their closeness just a little. He hadn't had anything even close to that in as far as he could remember. Not since he'd lost Michelle.
Perhaps that's why he made the offer, yet another thing which he probably should have thought over a little bit longer, but he didn't regret it. It had been a trial to explain the invitation to Higgins, who'd not been happy to play host to the unexpected guests until he'd discovered that Spinelli was an 'intellectual equal.'
Magnum and Jason were content to just watch the pair of them, both of them shaking their head at the enthusiasm Spinelli expressed whenever Higgins launched into one of his stories of the past. Magnum had thought that there would never be another person quite like Jonathan Quayle Higgins III, but Damian, 'the Jackal', Spinelli was as close as anyone could get.
Except, Magnum found Spinelli's take on things a little more refreshing than Higgins', and Spinelli also enjoyed listening to his stories of past cases that he'd solved. He proved to be an apt pupil, as had Jason, who was new to the profession of private investigation. It was nice to be able to impart some of his private investigatory knowledge to the pair.
When Higgins learned that their vacation was two-fold – to help Jason adjust to his newly chosen line of work, and to help Spinelli relax after a particularly rough case – he'd done his best to make them feel at home. He'd thrown them a soiree ('it's not a party Magnum'), and had given them the run of the estate, even going so far as to lend them one of Master Robins' cars to use while they were on the island.
When it was time to see Spinelli and Jason off to the airport two weeks later, he and Higgins were both invited to visit them in Port Charles, New York. Higgins extended Spinelli, and Jason, an open invitation to return to the estate anytime they wanted to.
"And you might want to stay a little longer than a fortnight," Higgins had said as he'd hugged, actually hugged, Spinelli.
Magnum watched Jason and Spinelli walk toward the airplane. Jason's hand was on the small of Spinelli's back, in a gesture that bespoke of friendship and love. Spinelli leaned into the touch, and Magnum wondered what the future held for the both of them. Their misadventure in paradise had drawn them closer together, but would their new-found closeness survive their return to Port Charles? He hoped so.