Well, it's been a while. Wrote this short thingsy for a Convention Zine in, uh... 200...well, a while ago. Hope you guys will like (2009! In October! Hah!) it and special thanks to flamingo for the help and great beta work. :)
Warnings... uh... well, there's talk about drugs and Hutch gets hurt and maybe there's a bad word or two. Let's say the usual wuemsel warnings apply. And now have fun (hopefully). :)
Stupid Reasons
by
wuemsel
The rain had helped at first. Hutch had been grateful for it. Now, it was starting to bother him. He told himself he was exaggerating, but he had a growing suspicion that it was all the rain's fault. It had lured him into a feeling of safety, relief. When he'd first stumbled into it, he'd drunk greedily. There'd never been enough water-no, they had never given him enough water–and he'd felt the icy drops, like spikes, knock awareness into him with every little stab of pain they caused. His numbness had started to crack open like a suffocating shell they'd draped over him. The cold water had refreshed him, reanimated him. Wrapped in the rain's cold and dark veil, he'd found the strength to duck his head and run. Not knowing where to run to, but knowing the horizontal downpour would swallow him like the night. Make him invisible.
Now running seemed like a distant memory. Had he ever run? Had he ever walked? Oh, wait, he was still walking. His glassy glance brushed over his feet, which he couldn't feel anymore. Yes, definitely movement. Little waves and splashes followed every shuffle. He frowned as he watched, trying to remember what shoes he wore – plain black loafers? When had he bought those? – then realized his cotton socks had soaked up the water. His feet were probably freezing. If they were still there, not that he could feel them. Oh, hell, if he saw his socks moving, his feet probably were inside, right?
As though the rain had switched sides, it brought back the numbness. Once, when a soaked lock of hair had fallen over his eyes, he'd lifted a hand to brush it away – and it had been there, his hand. He'd stared at it for a moment– never standing, always walking – thinking how funny, he'd forgotten he had hands. Couldn't feel them, anyway. Was his other one still there, too? Oh, yes, look at that. There it was. Creamy white in the city-bright darkness. Odd color for a Californian. Wasn't he supposed to be tanned?
His bare arms were white, too. To him, even the gashes looked gray, not red, though a distant part of his mind figured it was probably his vision playing tricks on him. Everything else had colors – the houses he passed, the neon lights, the trash cans, even the people, who didn't see him. Only he was black and white. Did they do that to him? Suck out his color? Maybe with a "Man from UNCLE"-like machine? "Tell us everything, Mr. Hutchinson, or we'll use Dr. Dreadful's newest invention on you!"
He chuckled and almost lost his balance, trusting his hand to be there when he willed it to reach out for a hold. How odd, he could feel the stone of the wall he steadied himself against, but not the hand or the arm resting against it. As if the wall had morphed into a part of him. If he reached out, maybe he'd be able to feel the whole city. His head lolled back on his neck as he stared up into the black, starless sky obscured by rain, and his other hand reached up. The rain he couldn't feel, but would he be able to touch the sky? Morph with the night? Become...
Stop it!
As if slapped, he snatched his hand back down, curled the arm around his middle. Ducked his head close, squeezed his eyes shut. City noises around him. Sounded like they went clockwise–?
He shook his head. Don't lose your mind now. When you're warm and safe and when you've found Starsky – then you can let go. But not now. Keep it together, you hear!
It was the same voice – It was his voice, but he didn't trust the person speaking to be him, because he didn't feel as reasonable and calm. – he'd heard back... back in... back... Well, there, wherever he'd been
Warehouse. It was a warehouse; large hall filled with desks and typewriters and a TV running. They locked you into a storage room. One window. You ran for about an hour... two hours?
Warehouse. Try to remember that. Are you remembering?
Just one voice, but three people, musta been, two grabbed you, remember? And outside, there were others outside.
Repeat the info, come on. Warehouse... Where?
–When he had been convinced he was back with Ben Forest's people, or outside, lost. His surroundings had changed so rapidly, with bugs and spiders and monsters and people appearing and disappearing at ill-making speed. He'd seen the blood on his arms, flooding out of him, so much blood –did humans have so much blood? – and only when it'd pooled on the shifting floor underneath him had he understood he really was bleeding. Slower and not so much, but it was there.
You're bleeding. Do something.
So he'd wiped it off, but it came back. The jolts of pain when his fingers brushed the wounds had helped clear his mind. Like he was opening a door inside his mind, so the Reasonable Voice could peek out and look.
Storage room. One bulb, shady light. Empty, gray walls, one window... Window!
Absently, he wondered how long it'd taken him to get out of there. One year? Two? Was Starsky even still looking for him?
Wait, they hadn't come back after they'd thrown him inside there, right? Right. So – if it had been that long, wouldn't he have starved?
Just stop thinking. You're not making any sense. Just keep moving, okay? I'll tell you when to stop.
Okay. The Reasonable Voice had led him out of wherever he'd been – warehouse, storage room –
Sure. Just a storage room. And why had the walls turned to lava? And why had the floor cracked to reveal tentacles trying to snatch him? And what about the huge pink spiders the ceiling had been made out of?
– So he trusted it. Maybe he'd even find it was his own voice, once the drugs wore off.
Drugs? He frowned. Where had that come from? Had he taken anything? Surely not! He wouldn't...
Stop thinking!
Good idea.
He pushed himself off the wall, his socks making splashing sounds, as he walked on. Only walking now, he couldn't run. He knew he was exhausted, he must be, but he didn't feel it, it wasn't that. He couldn't run because he didn't know how. The order run wasn't followed by an action. He'd forgotten how to run.
So, he walked. Shuffled, treading through the shallow rivers the rain had created on the sidewalk. Neon rivers.
He knew he had to find Starsky. Because it didn't matter if it hadn't been years, he knew he'd been gone. And he had to find Starsky and tell him he'd escaped. Starsky would know if it was okay to lie down and rest. He very much wanted to just drop, close his eyes, and let the darkness take the rain away and the numbness and the confusion, but he knew he mustn't do that. He'd drop now, and they'd find him. Starsky would protect him. He needed protection. He didn't like that thought, maybe it even embarrassed him a little, he wasn't sure, but he knew he needed protection.
Not because he couldn't take care of himself; he could! But because he wasn't thinking straight.
Starsky would know if something was seriously wrong with him. Starsky would know if he was hurt, if he needed help, a doctor, a blanket, whatever. He couldn't tell. He could see the movement, but not feel it. He remembered blood on him, but he didn't feel pain now, except when spiky rain drops hit his skin. He didn't feel cold, but he was dimly aware of the breathtaking sensation of cold.
He couldn't remember what warmth felt like. Had he ever been warm? Had it been warm in the... where he'd been? Well, sure, the walls had been boiling...
Suddenly, he heard a voice. It was hiding somewhere behind the veil of rain. Panicked, he stumbled, and fell on his knees. A splash swallowed the voice, and for a moment, he thought he'd fallen over a cliff into the ocean.
If he had, the ocean was solid ground, thank God, something to morph into like the wall, and he crawled forward, waves underneath his knees. He lost his balance and breathed in water, then he was on his knees again, coughing.
So, there was the warmth. The coughing hurt, burned his raw throat hot, razor-sharp. The warmth had just been trapped inside him. Good to know. However, as he tasted blood, he couldn't help thinking he preferred the numbness or even the cold. This warmth wasn't helping.
Something other than the ground pressed against him suddenly. Something he hadn't reached for, he was sure of that. He didn't morph into it, either, he... felt it.
It wasn't warm, but for some reason he thought it should be. Human hands were supposed to be warm.
Shocked, he flinched. Human hands?
"Hey, whoa, easy. Easy, Hutch, it's me. "
He thought he should know the voice, but he couldn't tell whom it belonged to. He only knew it wasn't Starsky.
He couldn't see through the rain, the neon darkness, and then realized his eyes were closed. Blinking them open, he caught glimpses of the night sky swirling in a blood red hurricane, and he squeezed his eyes shut again, turning his head into the water, against the ground.
"Hey. Hey."
A hand cradled his jaw, lifted his head.
He kept his eyes closed.
Another hand touched his shoulder blade. Pressed lightly. He felt that.
How many?
"Hutch. Can you hear me?"
Just one voice. A man. Who knew his name. Must mean something.
"Fuck."
The voice hissed. Sounded desperate.
Hutch didn't want to agitate the voice. He didn't mean to be difficult.
He couldn't feel his hand lift, but he knew he'd given it the order. And he felt his fingers flap against wet cloth, then his hand fell. Then human flesh caught his own hand. That flesh was warm this time.
"It's okay, baby, okay. It's Huggy. I'm here, everything's under control. I'll have you warm in no time. All right."
Suddenly, he felt very safe. Everything was okay. Warm in no time. Okay.
"No. Hutch? No, no. Hey. Don't go to sleep. C'mon! Hey. Come on, try to help. Hey, yo!"
His chin was shaken, his cheek slapped, then suddenly he was moving upward. His eyes flew open as if against his will, and he saw his socks again, way under him, covered with water. His torn t-shirt, as white as his skin underneath, the gray gashes...
A dark hand stood out stark against it. He lifted his head.
"Hi there." Huggy. Smiling. He was alone, struggling to keep Hutch up.
Hutch opened his mouth. "Cold."
Huh? He didn't feel cold. He must've forgotten to erase the word back when he'd first thought it. When he had felt cold.
Huggy's smile stayed, but it was strained. "I hadn't noticed. Come on."
Moving again. Shuffling. Huggy's arm around him, his steadying weight against Hutch's back felt warm. Pressed so close, everything about Huggy suddenly felt warm, and it made Hutch feel the cold so much more. With a whimper, Hutch tried to step out of the embrace.
"Whoa-whoa, where you're going?" Huggy gripped him tighter.
Walking, walking. And suddenly the rain stopped. Puzzled, he opened his eyes. No veil. The light was soft, warm, no neon. The smell was familiar.
He felt himself saglittle, heard Huggy groan with the effort to keep him from falling. He straightened himself. His head hurt. His feet left puddles on the floor. He frowned down at them.
Suddenly, the water penetrated the numbness. He was wet everywhere. His hair felt heavy, his clothes hanging with added weight, threatening to tear him down. His bones were wet inside. Every breath carried water.
The water kicked awake other sensations. Hot pain stabbed through the mind-numbing cold that ran through his veins. He looked at his arm; the gashes were bright red. The moment he saw them, he felt them. Gasped.
"Easy. Just a few more steps," Huggy said.
That voice made him glance around.
Behind him, a staircase led upstairs.
"Come on now, almost there. Then I'll call Starsky. He's gonna snap."
Starsky. Good idea. Starsky would fend off that looming feeling of dread.
And good to know Huggy needed Starsky, too. Somehow, it made Hutch feel less vulnerable, less alone in this.
A startling, violent shiver grabbed Huggy, almost shaking his hand loose from Hutch's arm. Instantly, he felt guilty. Looking at the pale, sagging man he dragged through the back entrance of his bar, past the kitchen, he didn't think he had any business shivering. Hutch felt as cold as a corpse. As easy to maneuver, too, Huggy thought with dry humor.
Also as talkative. Apart from letting him know he was cold, Hutch hadn't said anything yet, though Huggy sensed he understood what Huggy was saying to him. He hadn't fought him, so Huggy figured he knew he was safe now.
As if on cue, his soaked burden suddenly stopped moving so abruptly it almost sent them both falling.
Huggy was about to protest as he refastened his grip around Hutch's waist, when Hutch's weary voice announced, "No."
Delayed reaction? Huggy frowned, bent his head to look into wide eyes, with pupils as black as marbles. Like Hutch was wearing Halloween contact lenses. Well, that explained a lot.
"What?" Huggy asked softly, working with this new piece of information. "Somethin' wrong?"
The fleeting glance Hutch had focused on the staircase dropped to meet his. Hutch's freezing hand squeezed Huggy's wrist where he held Hutch upright.
"Upstairs... Not..." Hutch swallowed, drew in a panicky little breath, as if running out of air. Once more, his eyes flew to the staircase, then back to Huggy. "Upstairs hurts."
It looked like he wanted to say more, but was breathless. Hutch shook his head curtly and planted his feet with such determination Huggy accidentally dragged him a step forward.
"Sorry," Huggy hurried to apologize, catching Hutch's wince. "Sorry... " He let the word hover, while trying to make sense out of Hutch's words. Huggy looked up the stairs. Upstairs hurt?
With a question on the tip of his tongue, Huggy looked into his friend's eyes again. Drugged, wide, haunted...
And then it hit him. Of course. Upstairs hurt.
His own face fell with shared pain, and he brought one hand up to rest against the back of Hutch's head.
"Aw, man, Hutch, no, we're not going upstairs. It's okay."
Hutch stared at him and clearly didn't believe him.
To prove it, Huggy gently walked them past the looming staircase.
"Not going there. It's nothing like last time, I promise."
The instant he'd said it, he wondered if he'd just lied. How could he know what exactly they'd given Hutch this time? It wasn't heroin, no, he would have recognized that, but there were more hells than one a person could walk through.
Then again –
"Just trust the Bear. " – Lying had saved many a man before.
"Everything's gonna be a-okay in a second. We'll get you all comfy in a booth, and I'm sure Starsky will be here before you close your eyes. All right?"
The look he received made him suddenly wonder if Hutch had forgotten who Starsky was. Or if he'd just noticed he had no clue as to who was helping him. But, even through weary confusion written all over Hutch's damp, strained features, it was obvious the man felt instinctively safe.
"Starsky," Hutch said clearly.
"Yeah," Huggy repeated, patting Hutch's side where his hand lay. "We'll call Starsky."
The confusion seemed to lift a little on Hutch's face, like fog, and a smile flashed like lightning in the distance. Then it was gone again. Hutch's tired eyes closed.
Huggy felt him slump a bit once more and grow heavier.
"Oookay," he announced with exaggerated cheerfulness. They'd reached the first empty booth.
Hutch's eyes snapped open, his head whirled around to look at Huggy, then down as Huggy lowered him onto the bench. He sat sideways on the end of the bench. He obviously didn't have the strength to slide them under the table on his own.
"There ya go. Now, Hutch…" Crouching down, so he could look up into Hutch's face, Huggy held on to one of Hutch's ice-cold hand resting on the table. "I gotta go call your other half and get a blanket from upstairs-"
Hutch's eyes snapped open.
Huggy reached out to gently turn Hutch's chin towards him, and make him focus on him again.
"Blanket," he repeated. "Don't go to sleep just now. You hear me?"
He waited as he watched the words sink in, then be processed…
Hutch gave him a blank stare.
He sighed, and patted Hutch's trembling shoulder. "Be right back. Try to…" Resigned, he waved as he got to his feet. "It's gonna be okay."
The noise he made hastening up the stairs, tearing open the door and leaving chaos as he grabbed the nearest blanket would have been enough to keep anyone awake, he figured. Still, his heart still raced with the irrational fear of returning to the booth and finding Hutch had used the few unattended seconds to die on him.
"You still with me?" he asked on his return, blanket stuffed under one arm, glass of water in one hand, towel in the other.
At the sight that met him, he stopped, then hurried to his friend's side. "Uh… yo, Hutch?"
Hutch's dripping blond head had sunk forward to rest on his knees. One hand still lay motionless on the table, while the other rested against the ground, fingers curled.
Panicked, Huggy put the glass down and gently shook his slumped shoulders. "Hutch."
Relieved when Hutch stirred. he carefully cupped Hutch's chin to lift his head. "You in there?" He smiled.
Hutch moved his jaw, as if trying to speak. A violent shudder almost shook him free off Huggy's hold, and the bartender quickly placed the blanket around his quivering frame, then carefully rubbed Hutch's head with the towel. He left it around Hutch's shoulders, when he saw Hutch's clumsy pale hands fumbling to draw the blanket closer.
"Wait. There you go," Huggy muttered, taking over the process of wrapping him, but hesitated when he caught a hiss of pain. Peeling the blanket back again, he studied the bloody gashes on Hutch's arms. They weren't bleeding anymore, but they sure looked painful. It suddenly hit Huggy that if it weren't for whatever crap was floating through Hutch's system, he'd probably hurt like hell.
Up until now, warmth had been the priority, and since Hutch had been standing and walking – well, shuffling – without any alarming signs of pain, Huggy had figured any injuries were probably of a chemical nature. Only now did he take the time to inspect the dark bruises around Hutch's eye and jaw, as well as the stark blue smudges on the side of his neck. Fingerprints.
"Huggy."
Startled, Huggy looked up from where he'd brushed soft fingers over the marks.
"'M cold. What's happenin'?"
"Good things only," Huggy replied and refolded the blanket over Hutch's chest.
An unintelligible mumble followed, then, "I'm…" A frown. "… not thinking straight."
It was said with such serious conviction that it made Huggy snort a laugh. He knew that tone – Hutch had just solved a case.
"That's okay," he assured him. "It's been that kinda day for everyone."
Hutch looked so lost, staring intently at his friend, that Huggy felt compelled to explain it'd been a joke, when suddenly, Hutch's concentrated expression faded into a questioning one. "Starsky?"
"Yeah." Huggy nodded, getting up with a parting pat to Hutch's knee, and turned to reach over the counter for the phone. He dragged it back to the booth, sat it on the table, and gently knocked away the hand Hutch had moved to pick up the receiver.
"I'll do it," Huggy announced, already dialing the only precinct number he knew by heart, which happened to be at Hutch's desk.
"Yeah." Starsky's voice, after two rings, was like a bark, impatient, yet haunted, threaded with dread. Like he was expecting to hear terrible things. Hell, he probably was.
"Starsky…" Huggy started, but didn't get any further.
"Hug. Sorry, man, but unless Hutch just dropped in your backyard, I've no time. We found the damned betting office Witter must've kept him at, but guess what? That… nitwit escaped!"
"Starsky-"
"Through a fucking window!" Starsky cut him off. "There's blood all over the place. God knows where he's-"
"Here."
Silence. "What?"
"At the bar. Your escapee is here," Huggy told him, grinning at Hutch. "Didn't drop into my back yard, but into a puddle in the back alley."
"He what? He's what?"
Huggy handed the receiver over to Hutch. "Say you're alive."
"I'm alive." Hutch parroted obediently.
"Hutch!" Starsky exclaimed loud enough for Huggy to hear, then Hutch listened for a while, looking at Huggy all the time.
"Cold," he finally said, then, "Dunno. – No. – Starsk… am I okay?" He listened again. Nodded. Nodded again.
Smiling in sympathy, Huggy bent forward so Starsky would hear him explain, "He's nodding."
Yet another nod, then Hutch handed the receiver back to Huggy.
"Yo, it's me," Huggy said, watching Hutch wearily close his eyes, his head slowly sinking against the back of the bench. "You're wanted here, fast."
"He in pain?" Starsky asked, concerned.
"Hard to tell if he feels it, you know what I'm sayin'," Huggy replied darkly. "But he's been roughed up for sure. He needs a hospital, and fast."
Starsky cursed under his breath. "Bastards. We found some of Witter's new 'products,' sent 'em to the lab already…" He trailed off, as if thinking distracted him. "He sounds scared. Should I come pick him up or should I send an ambulance, what do you think?"
Hutch moved his eyes slowly around the room, then suddenly wide – and squeezed them shut again, turning his head sideways, chin ducked close to his shoulder.
"Uh…" Huggy started, watching the development with rising discomfort. "Not sure I wanna try explain to him he has to leave with strangers."
"Okay."
"But step on it." Huggy moved the receiver away a little as he placed a hand against the side of Hutch's face, whispering, "Hey, bro, don't nod off just now."
He didn't catch Starsky's reply, but heard the click in the phone and hung up, too, not taking his eyes off the huddled detective.
"Hutch? Starsky will be here in a minute, okay? You hear?"
After a long moment, Hutch moved his head again, blinked his eyes open.
Huggy smiled assuringly. "Well there." Brushing his hand down Hutch's cheek, he withdrew it. "How're you holding up, huh?"
"Your counter's on fire," Hutch said. "The fire's green–"
"Ah. Okay. Well, keep your eyes closed, but don't doze off, a'right?"
"Will I die, when I go to sleep?" Hutch asked, sounding more interested than scared. Another shudder shook him, but he didn't seem to notice.
"No, but I'll get bored," Huggy said, his gaze falling on Hutch's soaked socks. "We better get your feet warm, too. You still cold?"
"Cold?" Hutch asked, puzzled.
Huggy sighed, silently urging Starsky to hurry and forced a calming smile on his face. "Never mind. Just lift your feet, c'mon."
When had it started to rain?
Realizing he was following the movement of the windshield wipers shoving waves of water from one side to the other, Starsky blinked hard. Concentrating on the blurry road in front of him, he became aware of the contorted lights of the city, the swooshing sounds of cars passing him. He suddenly realized he could use the siren, and turned it on.
He probably shouldn't be driving at all. He'd had a catnap some time that morning, when Witter's man in the interrogation room had finally started to talk after insisting Starsky leave the room. He'd been too wired to sleep, really, but the second he'd sat in Dobey's office, waiting for what information Dobey would bring him, his eyes had shut as if someone had switched off the power.
Before that, he couldn't remember the last time he'd slept. He was still asleep four days ago, when Hutch had picked him up for work that morning. He hadn't had enough sleep then, either, though. He'd been sucked into a Jetsons marathon that'd started after a Mae West flick he'd watched.
"You stayed up till five to watch bad cartoons?"
Hutch's disbelieving tone still rang in his ears.
He'd replied, "Don't talk to me like I'm six; I can stay up as long as I want."
He remembered Hutch's chuckle.
He'd been sleepy all that day, and of course Hutch had teased him mercilessly about it, humming the Jetsons tune every time he re-entered the car and found Starsky dozing or Hutch would start debates as to whether the show portrayed the future as eloquently as the Flintstones did with the past.
"I mean, if you look at Yogi Bear as a semantic symbol for-"
"Just shuddup, Hutch, please, I'm begging you."
Hutch chuckled again.
For three days, Starsky had been convinced he'd never hear that laugh again. Convinced that, if he hadn't been dragging all that day, yawning and shuffling and whining, Hutch would have called him when he'd gotten the tip from their informant in Witter's mob. He'd have called Starsky, not thinking he'd wake him when he clearly needed sleep, and they'd have gone to that damned meeting together, and they'd have called for backup, and nothing bad would have happened to either of them.
Even though the information wasn't good, they would have been okay, if only they'd gone together.
You didn't just follow some half-assed junkie tip to a deserted warehouse in the middle of the goddamn night without telling anyone!
How often had he thought that over the past three days? Two hundred million times minimum. Not even a rookie just out of uniform would follow a tip like that like a moth to the flame without telling anyone! And Hutch was the best.
Maybe he should stop telling him that. Maybe it'd gone to his head.
Well, at least Starsky had had a good night's sleep, right? Turned in at nine, slept dreamlessly, and woke up to a nightmare.
It had taken a day just to find Hutch's car, another eight hours to drag the informant out of his hole.
All the time Starsky kept thinking, He didn't call me. He didn't call me. Why didn't you call me? and that he would never see him again.
Starsky knew Witters didn't leave bodies to be found. If he had Hutch, there would have been nothing left to bury.
A car flew by, its horn honking like a constant yell.
Starsky jumped, grabbed the steering wheel tighter. Damn, he'd been following the windscreen wipers again. He wiped a shaking hand over his right eye. He needed rest. The instant he saw Hutch, he'd probably just collapse. Three days.
It hadn't rained for that long, had it?
Sometimes Dobey or Minnie had shoved something to eat in his hands, and he'd eaten it. They'd told him to get some rest, to let them take care of things for an hour or two, but he couldn't have slept, anyway. If Hutch was never found, Starsky would never sleep again.
He missed the driveway to Huggy's parking lot, pulled over, and hit a trash can.
The back door was locked.
"Huggy!" He hammered against it. "It's me, open up."
It wasn't necessary, since he could hear approaching footsteps, but he kept pummeling the door until Huggy unlocked it and jerked it open.
Starsky barely heard him say that Hutch was in a booth up front as he ran past him.
"Hutch!"
He skidded to a halt next to the booth Hutch sat in, feet on the floor and forehead resting on his knees, damp hair all that peeked out from under the blanket bundled around him. He was trembling and ever so slightly rocking back and forth.
"Hey," Starsky greeted him in a soft voice, placing one hand against the heap of blanket. "Hey Hutch, it's me. I'm here."
Hutch froze.
"Hutch." Starsky tried again, adding a little pressure to the shoulder he held to get Hutch to look at him. "It's me, buddy. It's okay now, I'm here."
In a sudden motion, Hutch uncurled and gazed at Starsky out of wide, dark eyes.
Starsky winced in sympathy. Reflexively, one of Starsky's hand came up to brush against the skin on Hutch's neck where the fingerprint marks were.
"Hi." Starsky smiled.
Hutch stared at him. Closed his eyes, opened them again. Swallowed audibly. "I-I don't know how..." he started, sounding fearful. "I'm sorry."
Starsky frowned. "For what?"
Hutch lowered his gaze. Slumped his shoulders. "I didn't... I dunno," he muttered. Feebly, he tugged at Starsky's sleeve, but withdrew his hand when Starsky reached for it.
"It's okay, Hutch, it's all right," he said soothingly. "I'll get you to a hospital now, okay? You'll be fine. It's okay."
"But..." Lifting his head, Hutch grabbed Starsky's arms. "Starsky, I..." Something to his right seemed to drag his attention towards it. He glanced away and flinched, bowed his head.
"Yeah, just, uh, don't look," Starsky muttered, freeing one hand to stroke Hutch's hair. "It's okay, I'll take care of everything. You think you can walk?"
"Starsky," Huggy said quietly. He stood leaning against the food counter, out of Hutch's line of sight.
Starsky half turned to look at him.
"He knows he's high," Huggy said in an almost careful voice.
Starsky frowned.
"I think he thinks it's his fault."
Closing his eyes for a second, Starsky swallowed a curse. Turned back to Hutch. "Hey." Crouching down so that they were on eye level, Starsky waited 'til Hutch looked at him. "You didn't do anything wrong. You didn't take anything." He waited. "D'you understand that?"
Hutch blinked slowly and uttered an unintelligible mumble that sounded suspiciously like "I'm sorry."
Starsky sighed. "We need to get you checked out. Okay?" Glancing down, he took in the sight of Hutch's arms. "Jeez, Hutch." He smiled. "Didn't you trust me to come for you?"
"I don't know wh-wha... They never asked me anything," Hutch told him and sniffed. "I don't know... Starsk?" A monumental shiver shook his shoulders, and Starsky drew the blanket tighter around him, then straightened, dragging Hutch to his feet with him.
Holding him close with one arm, Starsky glanced at Huggy and started their shuffled walk to the back door. Huggy followed, switching off the lights on his way.
When they passed the staircase, Hutch twitched, looking over his shoulder, then back to Starsky, desperate and frightened. "No, Starsk, I... Please, I'm not..."
"Shh." Drawing him in with one hand on the back of his head, Starsky didn't halt, but took them past the staircase and its looming memory as if guiding a kid past the outside decoration of a scary ride at a fair. "We're not going up there. We're going to the hospital, remember?"
Hutch whimpered into the crook of Starsky's neck.
"I know you don't understand, buddy. It's okay. Trust me. You didn't do anything wrong. Just... don't think about it, okay? You focus on trusting me, and I'll take care of it."
"I'm sorry, Starsky," Hutch said, lifting stark eyes with huge pupils filled with shame and fear. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to... I'm sorry."
"'Sokay, 'sokay," Starsky soothed, patting his back, as he continued to walk them outside. "I'm here. You'll be fine. There we go. Get in the car, Hutch."
He bundled Hutch inside and held the driver's sear forward so Huggy could climb into the back. Craning his head, he stared up into the rain, breathed in wet air.
'You're apologizing for the wrong thing, Hutch.'
When he started the engine, he felt Hutch's hand on his arm. He turned his head to meet a frightened, imploring gaze.
Smiling, he patted Hutch's hand. "It's okay, Hutch."
"I'm cold."
"It's okay," Starsky repeated, putting Hutch's hand back under blanket. "Everything's gonna be all right."
And then we can all get some rest.
He took them out of the parking lot.
Hutch sat shivering, snuffling his nose repeatedly.
Every now and then Starsky glanced at him, adjusted the blanket, gently squeezed his neck, or rubbed his back.
He smiled reassuringly, when Hutch's eyes met his.
"It's gonna hurt," Hutch muttered hopelessly and looked away again. "I don't know..." He trailed off, closed his eyes, and buried his nose in the blanket. He mumbled something Starsky didn't understand.
"You'll be fine," he promised, stroking the back of Hutch's head. "You just have to sleep it off. Nothing's gonna hurt, I promise."
He wasn't so sure that he wasn't lying.
It had stopped raining.
That was the first thing Hutch heard when he woke up. Then he heard nurses chattering about the weather as they changed the bed next to his.
Hutch didn't remember if there had been someone in it last night. There wasn't a lot he did remember.
He remembered being hopelessly, frighteningly cold. He remembered the rain, remembered it numbing the pain in his arms and head.
Looking down, he wearily studied the gauze on his arms.
Distorted images wormed their way up through the fog in his head. A window. Blood. Lights swimming in black puddles.
He squeezed his eyes shut, and scratched the bridge of his nose.
A hand on his shoulder made him jump.
"Sorry," the friendly voice matched the nurse's expression when she said, "I didn't mean to scare you."
"No, you..." He swallowed. "I'm sorry. I..." Trailing off, he smiled. About to ask how long he'd been there, he frowned suddenly, and scanned the room. "Where's-"
"We sent him to bed." She smiled apologetically. "He wanted to stay here with you," she added so quickly it made him wonder what his expression had looked like, "but he was just so beat we were afraid he'd collapse on us. Your other friend offered to drive him, but he wouldn't have any of it. Of course, last night Mr. Katimsky was still here." She gestured at the bed where her colleague was smoothing the sheets . That nurse gave Hutch a little wave. "Otherwise we would have let him use that bed."
"Wait," Hutch cut her off, before she could go on, "he's here? You didn't send him home?"
She pursed her lips as if thinking. "Well, no, we did." She shrugged. "But he has a badge, you know."
"And we didn't really mind having him on our couch in the lounge," the other nurse said with a grin, stepping over to the door. "I mean, he's not too hard on the eyes, you know what I'm sayin'." With a wink, she left the room.
"I think she likes him," the remaining nurse told Hutch with a conspiratorial smile, before asking, "So, how are you feeling?"
"Uhm... Arms hurt."
"Dr. Tanner will be with you shortly. Anything else? Headache?"
"Not too bad. When can I...?" Seeing Starsky's head appear in the doorway, Hutch trailed off. After a split second, he smiled, and waved.
The nurse turned her head. She sighed, shaking her head. "I'll let the doctor know you're awake." She told Hutch, then she left.
"Hey," Hutch said.
Starsky returned the smile tiredly and shuffled into the room. "Hey."
"Nurses keep you awake?"
Starsky snorted. With a yawn, he plopped down into a chair next to the bed.
Hutch sat up, winced, and settled against the bedframe.
"How're you doing?" Starsky asked.
"I'll be all right. You look terrible."
Starsky waved dismissively. "I'm just tired. Once we're outta here, I'll go home and sleep for a week."
"Hopefully, to then turn over and sleep for another one," Hutch quipped.
"Yeah, something like that," Starsky replied tiredly. He looked at his hands in his lap, and let go a deep breath.
Hutch studied him, frowning; it aggravated his headache. "Starsk..." He waited 'til his partner looked at him again. "I-I don't know... I don't remember much, but... Shit. What I want to say is, if I..." He trailed off.
Starsky watched him.
Hutch sighed, then ran a hand through his hair. "You're supposed to help me out here."
"I didn't think you'd want help."
The answer was so unexpected Hutch's gaze snapped back to Starsky's face. "What?"
"I know you probably don't remember much from last night. And I hope you don't remember a lot of what happened when they had you, but I know you remember how you ended up there in the first place."
Hutch suddenly very vividly remembered feeling cold. "Starsky, that's-"
"I haven't told you, yet," Starsky interrupted him, still in that quiet tone Hutch knew meant he was angry. "We've got Witters in custody. We'd found out where they held you, but you were already gone. We confiscated this month's delivery, and now, with your testimony, it all looks pretty airtight. Dobey said to tell you good job. And that you're an idiot, and if you ever do anything like that again, you're fired."
Hutch closed his mouth. He nodded, waiting for the rest.
"Well?" Starsky eventually asked.
Hutch couldn't meet his eyes. "I'm sorry, Starsky."
Starsky huffed. "Yeah. Shit, Hutch," he suddenly exploded, "you scared the crap outta me! What the hell where you thinking, going into something this big without backup? You know better!"
"I do now," Hutch muttered and smiled feebly.
Starsky shook his head almost sadly, not even bothering to acknowledge that. "Hutch," he said gravely. "I thought I'd never see you again."
Their eyes met.
"I'm sorry," Hutch said quietly.
"I know you are, buddy, but you'd've been sorry, too, if they'd thrown your body into the bay!" Starsky's voice rose steadily. "And all because I stayed up too late watching fucking cartoons?"
Hutch looked down at his blanket, chewing his lower lip nervously. When he couldn't stand the following silence anymore, he muttered, "I'm really very sorry. I know I screwed up on this. Just..." He glanced up pleadingly, but couldn't continue when he saw the hurt in Starsky's eyes.
"Damn right you did. If they'd killed you, I'd have never forgiven you."
That made them both exchange small smiles.
"God knows why I put up with you," Starsky said.
"You like having me around," Hutch replied with a shrug. "Perfectly understandable."
The smile faded from Starsky's face. "Yeah, I do, Hutch," he said quietly.
Hutch closed his eyes and sighed. "I don't know what happened," he finally said, meeting his friend's eyes, as hard as it was. "I got the call, and I... wanted to do this alone."
"Why?"
"Cause it was Witters."
Starsky opened his mouth.
"Because," Hutch cut him off, "he's a drug lord. A big one. And I wanted him."
"You and the United States," Starsky replied confused.
"The United States doesn't have to prove to itself that it can take care of its own enemies," Hutch said. As Starsky reacted to that with stunned silence, he added, "Or its demons."
"You're kidding. This is about Forest? You almost get yourself killed, because-"
"It's a good enough reason to get oneself killed!" Hutch snapped. "It's a damn good reason!"
The anger faded from Starsky's face like rain after windshield wipers wiped it away. He shook his head. "No."
"What d'you mean, no?"
"It's not. It's a stupid reason. You're a cop, Hutch. You know how it's done. I don't think it's a good reason, I don't think it woulda been worth your life, and I'm the one who would've still been here!"
"I told you I'm sorry," Hutch said and looked away. Now that it wasn't the middle of the night with the TV mutely illuminating his living room and the shadows moving, it didn't seem like a good idea to him, either.
"Yeah, but are you?" Starsky asked, exasperated. "Are you sorry enough to not do it again? Cause, you know, in our line of business we might run into another drug lord some day. And another one and another one. If you don't think you can be a cop-"
"I am a cop," Hutch cut him off, his voice so soft Starsky had to lean forward to catch it. "I'm just messed up."
"Hey."
When he didn't react, a gentle hand nudged his shoulder. He lifted his gaze.
"You're angry," Starsky said. "And it's okay that you are. I am, too. I don't know what to do about it, either. But letting it kill you seems... destructive." His smile grew when Hutch shook his head. "A bit."
"You've been reading my 'Psychology Today'?"
"Yeah." By now, the smile was officially a grin. "I also need to talk to you about escaping before I could show up to rescue you."
"Well, partner, you were taking your time, y'know."
Starsky nodded guiltily. "True. So, if you promise to never do anything like that again, I promise to come rescue you sooner next time. Deal?"
Hutch smiled. "Deal." He shifted slightly and winced.
Starsky rose to his feet. "Okay, I'm gonna go look where that doctor's hiding. Be right back."
"Hey Starsk?" Hutch called after him, when Starsky had already stepped outside.
Holding onto the doorframe, Starsky leaned back into the room, his brows rising questioningly. "Hm?"
"Won't do it again."
Starsky smiled, gave a curt nod and left the room.