Title: Not Without Me
Author: Still Waters
Fandom: Starsky & Hutch
Disclaimer: Not mine. Just playing, with love and respect to those who brought these characters to life.
Summary: Starsky's POV on finding Hutch at the end of "Fatal Charm."
Notes: This piece focuses on about thirty seconds' worth of the episode "Fatal Charm." I have always been touched by the tremor in Starsky's voice when he asks an injured Hutch "where ya goin'?" as Hutch starts to slide to the floor. There was so much emotion infused into those three words that it just begged for an exploration. This is my humble attempt – I hope I do the characters and emotions justice. This piece is unbeta'd so please excuse any blatant errors. Thank you for reading.
Starsky bolted out of the Torino, each slap of his sneaker-clad feet against the pavement a sharp accent to the litany of his thudding heart.
Please don't be too late.
As he exploded into the building, Starsky was assaulted by Diana's unhinged screams…..but more frightening than her furious, threatening voice was the absolute lack of one more familiar – a voice both firm and focused, while simultaneously gentle and understanding, one that soothed wild emotions and brought peace to chaos.
Why wasn't Hutch trying to talk her down?
Starsky tore up the stairs, his chest twisting at the very real possibility that Hutch was already dead – that Diana had made good on her threat and was venting on a corpse. The rational part of Starsky's brain insisted that it would be highly irrational for Diana to be screaming like that at a dead man.
That same part of his brain also pointed out that those screams were far from rational.
The stairs suddenly became an endless barrier, the litany intensifying with every unbalanced screech.
Please don't be too late.
As the landing came into view, Starsky's brief elation at finding an upright Hutch on the receiving end of Diana's fury vanished as his breath caught on a surge of fear. Hutch was against the wall, one arm loosely around Diana's back as if he had tried to push her away and had lost strength halfway through the motion, his face twisted in pain as Diana pounded at his torso, uninhibited.
Completely uninhibited.
And that's where the fear flooded Starsky's chest.
Hutch was disturbingly defenseless.
No physical counteraction.
No verbal negotiation.
Starsky had many ways of describing his partner, but 'defenseless' wasn't one of them.
He saw the loosened towel over the guarded left arm, saw Hutch barely able to keep his feet…..and the litany intensified further, breath hostage in his tightened chest, as the plea cut down to two frantic words.
How bad?
"Diana!" With a bellow, Starsky cleared the landing, wrestling Diana back from an alarmingly pale Hutch as the blond detective collapsed against the wall. Starsky struggled to contain Diana's flailing arms, eyes desperately moving from Hutch's bloodless lips mouthing an almost laughable "I'm sorry", to the stairs where the backup units were right behind him. Fighting the urge to shout the officers to his side, Starsky tensed every muscle in his body against the raw need to pass off the arrest and attend to his true responsibility.
To the man in front of him.
Starsky gladly shoved an increasingly incomprehensible Diana at the uniformed officers as they reaching the landing. Let them take care of the law. He had done his duty – he had held her back. Away from Hutch.
Now it was time to get to Hutch.
Starsky rushed forward, a shaky "you okay?" rushing from his lips even as his two-worded litany was quickly answered by one unobstructed look at his friend's face. He grabbed Hutch's arms, desperate for contact, as the blond detective sagged. That first sound of Hutch's voice did little to reassure Starsky – the weakness of the soft "oops" scared him nearly as much as the disconnectedness did. Starsky glanced at the extra towel on Hutch's left arm, stomach rolling at the dark stain marring the fabric, ears suddenly registering the ominous patter of blood dripping off shaking fingers toward a dangerously spreading pool at their feet. Hutch's face was translucent, skin cool and clammy under the lingering moisture of the shower, the minute tremors of shock and blood loss weakening an already overly-depleted system. Starsky wasn't sure where Hutch's shaking ended and his own adrenaline-fueled terror began.
Starsky swallowed hard as he ducked his head to meet Hutch's eyes as the blond began to sink toward the floor, arms burning as he struggled to pull his partner upright, even as he knew that, medically speaking, he should be laying Hutch down. His head knew he should be working to combat the shock, to stop the bleeding. His heart looked at the dulled blue eyes, the chalky skin…it saw the color seeping out Hutch with each sharp spatter of blood on the ground…..and it whispered the irrational need to keep Hutch standing up…as if by laying him down, the very landing itself would leech out the rest of his color…his life…as if, once supine, Hutch would look more like the corpse Starsky had feared he would find…the one Hutch could still so very quickly become.
The litany changed again.
Keep him up. Keep him alive.
As Hutch's legs folded and his breathing became more labored, Starsky struggled to control his own breath as the litany rose to a deafening crescendo. He frantically tried to hold Hutch up, watching the fading eyes and slackening features with desperate fear. He forced himself to stay focused on Hutch's face as his partner shook with shock and an unconscious attempt to remain on his feet. Fear rippled through Starsky's body, his own hands shaking in the anxious need to hold Hutch up. As Hutch dropped again, Starsky found the tremors spreading to his voice – all his desperation, his fear, his need, his wild panic in three shaky words – "where ya goin'?"
Hutch could barely look at him as he struggled to respond. "I think I'll sit down," Hutch gasped weakly against Starsky's grip.
Starsky rationalized his response a dozen different ways. The landing wasn't a safe place to lay Hutch down – he was close to the stairs and it would be easy for someone to trip over him. It wouldn't give Starsky or medical personnel much room to work on him. It was dark and Starsky wouldn't be able to see the wound well. Blankets and pillows were back in Hutch's apartment and the injured man needed to be kept warm, that arm elevated. Extra towels to stop the bleeding were in the bathroom.
But his equally shaky response, with just a hint of pleading, was beyond any of those reasons.
"Not here."
His heart thumped with each repetition.
Keep him up. Keep him alive.
And somehow, Hutch responded to that unspoken need. He attempted to get his feet under him again with a groan, tried to help as Starsky's arms enveloped him and dragged him up.
Starsky let out a breath, silently thanking whatever combination of fate, karma, and heavenly influence had brought this man into his life. His eyes never left Hutch's face as he got him up and began to carry him into the apartment.
Where Hutch would be safe. Where there would be plenty of room for paramedics to work. Where it was light and Starsky could see what he was doing. Where he could bind the wound and keep Hutch warm.
Where he could sit him up on the couch.
If Hutch was upright…Starsky could keep his friend with him. And that was what it came down to.
That was all that mattered.
That Hutch was with him.
Because, as desperate as Starsky's "where ya goin'?" was, Hutch's answer didn't make a difference. He could have said anything…
….And Starsky's response would still have been the same.
It would always be the same.
Not without me.