A DARK DAY IN MAY

Huggy remembers the day Starsky was shot in the police garage and the terrible days that followed. This story was written in response to a challenge on the MSN Group to tell a story from Huggy's POV. Short but intense. Major tissue warning in spots.

Author's Note: Since the first few chapters will follow the actual events from the episode "Sweet Revenge", some excerpts from that story line will be used. However, this story will focus more on Huggy's memory of the events during that period of time. You may notice several similarities between this story and my previous story "The Man He Used To Be." This story is actually a companion piece to that story, just being retold from a different perspective.

Beta read by ProvencePuss

CHAPTER 1

I grinned to myself as I watched my two best friends, Ken Hutchinson and Dave Starsky, clowning around with each other as they played a game of pool Night and Day. Darkness and Light. That's what they reminded me of. Hutch was a big blond with ice blue eyes and a cool, calm demeanor to match. Starsky, on the other hand, was a curly-haired brunet with an olive toned complexion and a volatile, unpredictable nature. They were both lean and muscular, their bodies toned and in shape. They were tough hard-nosed street cops working one of the roughest beats in the city.

As I watched them, I let my mind drift back to that fatal day in May when Hutch almost lost Starsky to a hail of bullets in the parking garage at police headquarters. It was an assassination attempt aimed at both of the dynamic duo. The gunmen's biggest mistake was hitting Starsky but missing Hutch. Like an avenging angel, the big blond hunted down the man responsible and brought him to justice, and then returned to the hospital to devote his time and energy to helping Starsky recover from his injuries. I closed my eyes as I found myself remembering that dark day in May.

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That day had started out just like any other day for me. I got up around noon and stumbled into the bathroom to take a shower. I had spent the night with a young lovely that had kept me occupied until almost five am, so I was running a little behind that morning. I owned and operated a lucrative bar and grill in downtown Bay City that opened at noon for lunch and closed at two-thirty in the morning. Most of my waking hours were spent working, keeping an eye on my ever-changing staff, and my ears open to what was happening on the streets.

I knew that Diane and Anita, my two best waitresses and most reliable employees, would have things under control when I arrived. They both arrived at eleven am and got the bar ready to open for the lunch trade. After lunch, Diane would leave and then come back later that evening to work the night shift. I never had to worry about the bar when either one of them was there and in charge.

I was in a cheerful mood as I got dressed for the day. I had no idea that events were unfolding at that very moment that were about to change the lives of two of my best friends dramatically. When I went downstairs, the bar was already crowded with the lunch crowd. I was lucky enough to have a faithful group of regulars that came by every day and word of mouth was the best advertising you could ask for. I exchanged pleasantries with several customers as I made my way to the kitchen to check on the new cook I had just hired a few days ago.

He seemed to be doing a good job, keeping up with the orders in a timely manner and keeping things running smoothly. I made a few quick mental notes about some supplies we were running low on as I went back out front to tend the bar. It was just another typical Tuesday morning. Around one o'clock, a news bulletin flashed across the TV mounted behind the bar, something about a shooting in the police garage downtown. One officer had been shot and was presumed dead. The details were sketchy and I didn't really pay that much attention. No names or any other details were given at that time.

Violence of that kind was second nature in a place like Bay City, a suburb of Los Angeles. My mind was soon occupied with other things and I forgot about the news flash until the phone rang a couple of hours later. The lunch trade had slowed down, so I grabbed the phone and said, "This is the Bear, talk to me."

For several seconds I heard nothing but silence on the line and I almost hung up, thinking that someone had dialed a wrong number, but then a gruff voice said,

"Huggy, it's Captain Dobey. I'm at Memorial hospital."

"Hey, Cap…what's up?" I asked, even though I felt an uneasy churning in the pit of my stomach, you know the kind you get when you automatically know somebody is gonna tell you something you don't want to hear.

"Starsky's been shot and it doesn't look good. You better get down here. Hutch is gonna need you." Those few words sent a knife slicing through my heart.

"I'll be right there." I said, hanging up the phone before he could reply. My mind flashed back to the news bulletin I had heard on the TV earlier. Oh, sweet Jesus. Not Starsky. Not Curly. I caught Anita's eye and said hastily, "I gotta leave. I don't know when I'll be back." She gave me a puzzled look, picking up on my anxiety, but didn't ask any questions as I rushed out the front door.

I climbed into my white Caddy which was parked at the curb in front of the building and fumbled with my keys, trying to get my numb fingers to fit them into the ignition. My heart was pounding like it wanted to jump out of my chest. Starsky and I had been friends since we were teenagers. We had met when his mother sent him to Bay City to live with his aunt and his uncle when he was thirteen. We had been the best of friends ever since.

To most people, ours would be considered an unlikely friendship. A Jewish white boy from New York and a jive streetwise black kid from the inner city but it worked for us. In spite of his bravado, Starsky was still a thirteen-year-old kid who had been ripped away from his friends and the only family he had and sent three thousand miles away to live with virtual strangers. He was scared shitless. I befriended him and helped him to adjust to the sudden upheaval of his life, something he never forgot. See, that was the thing about Starsky. He was loyal to his friends, almost to a fault. Once you were his friend, you were his friend for life.

I finally got the Caddy started and pulled out into the traffic. I broke every traffic law there was in my mad dash to the hospital that day. The words from the news broadcast, presumed dead, kept echoing in my head. Twenty minutes later, I was pulling into the parking garage at Memorial Hospital. I quickly found a spot to park the Caddy and climbed out of the vehicle. I didn't even bother to lock the doors as I ran across the pavement towards the elevators. I figured if somebody wanted to steal anything, they were welcome to whatever they wanted.

I bypassed the main lobby, going straight to the ICU. I knew if Starsky was still alive, that was where he would be. The entire fourth floor was crawling with cops. It looked like police headquarters. Uniformed officers were milling around along with a few undercover officers in plain clothes that I recognized sitting in the waiting room. All of them wore a shocked expression on their face and an air of foreboding hung heavily in the air.

When a fellow officer is shot, it affects the entire brotherhood of cops. Every officer on the force from the lowest patrol officer to the highest-level officials would be working together to find the man responsible for the attack on Starsky. Starsky and Hutch were both well liked and respected by their peers, even the few who didn't particularly care for them, still respected them. Their partnership was almost legendary in the department. Everybody who knew them knew how close those two were. They weren't just partners, they were also best friends.

I glanced up and down the main hallway, looking for someone who could tell me what was going on. Near the end of the hall to my left, I saw a familiar blond figure, hunched forward on a chair, staring through one of the glass observation windows that lined the hallway. The burly figure of Captain Harold Dobey, head of the homicide division at Metro, stood beside him. I hurried in that direction, trying to hold back my panic as I drew closer. The sagging shoulders and dejected posture of both men spoke volumes about Starsky's condition.

Hutch was straddling a chair with his arms folded across the backrest, staring through the observation window into Starsky's room. I caught my breath when I got my first glimpse of my injured friend. Starsky was lying on his back in the bed, his normally olive complexion as white as the bed linens. A sheet covered his lower body, his exposed chest and abdomen heavily bandaged, along with his left shoulder. A nurse and a doctor were both in the room with him.

Two IV's dripped steadily into the back of his right hand and one into the back of his left. Wires and tubes poked out from various spots underneath the bandages. A clear plastic bag hanging on the bottom of the bedrail collected his urine. The bed was surrounded by machines, the machines that were keeping him alive.

The lower half of his face was obscured by the mouthpiece to the ventilator that forced his chest to rise and fall in the normal rhythm he could no longer maintain on his own. I found my eyes my eyes drawn to the heart monitor standing to the right side of the bed. Those jagged green lines on the screen assured me that Starsky was still alive.

"Cap?" I said quietly, forcing the words out past the lump in my throat.

"A couple of guys dressed up like officers." Dobey told me gruffly, a catch in his voice. "He's lucky to be alive."

"He's gonna be okay…" I said, even though I doubted my own words. I could see the slackness of the muscles in his face and the way his eyes and cheeks seemed to be sunken into hollows.

"He's dying." Hutch said in a flat, toneless voice that sent a chill down my spine. He never took his eyes off his motionless partner. I knew the big blond well enough to know that he was barely holding on to his emotions.

"No…" I gasped in a strangled voice. I refused to allow myself to believe that Starsky was going to die. He had been hurt so many times before, stared death in the face and walked away the winner. My mind refused to accept the fact that this time would be any different.

"He's suffered massive damage." Hutch said so softly I had to strain to hear the words. "The body can only withstand…" his words trailed off into silence as I saw him choke back a silent sob.

"But, there's a chance." I insisted, still refusing to accept the inevitable. "There's always a chance."

"Of course there's a chance." Dobey said gruffly, mirroring my words. "There's always a chance."

The doctor came out of the room and Hutch jumped to his feet, determined to be with his partner. "He's in a coma." The doctor reminded him needlessly as Hutch brushed past him and disappeared into the room.

"Hey, Doc…ummm…." Captain Dobey said, unable to ask the question that lingered foremost in his mind.

"He may survive a few more hours…there's no way of knowing. He should already be dead. He should have died back there in that parking garage." The doctor said, answering the unspoken question and dashing my wild hopes that they were wrong in their assessment of Starsky's injuries.

It was my turn to slump down in the chair Hutch had just vacated, my knees giving out on me. I turned my head to stare through the window at the two men in the room. Hutch was slumped in a chair beside the bed, just staring at Starsky, such a grief- stricken look in his eyes that I instinctively wanted to reach out and comfort him. I found myself blinking back the sudden tears that pooled in my eyes.

If Starsky died, I knew that Hutch would find a way to join him in death. Those two were connected in a way I'd never seen before. They were two halves of the same whole, one could not survive without the other. They were true soul mates in every sense of the word.

As I sat there staring through that window at my two friends, I knew that I would be staying at the hospital until the crisis was over. I would join Hutch in his lonely vigil over the man who had affected both of our lives so dramatically, a curly-haired rascal who had made us both believe in ourselves again. He was my best friend. I owed him more than I could ever repay in my lifetime. Even if he was already lost to us, somewhere beyond our reach, I would be here for him, and for Hutch, until the end.