DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN ANY PART OF THE STARSKY AND HUTCH FRANCHISE. THE FOLLOWING IS FOR ENTERTAINMENT PURPOSES ONLY.
Author's Notes:
Beta'd by Tonya: Thanks so much for your creative and heartfelt suggestions.
Inspiration: Isn't it funny when a conversation that has nothing to do with Starsky and Hutch lends itself to something that would be a great idea for Starsky and Hutch?
I had that experience in an e-mail conversation with Karen B; hence the great idea for the title to this story. Karen you are so generous and unselfish!
Confidence and friendship provided by: Debbie--- I value your opinion and am so grateful to call you friend!
Have a safe, happy and creative New Year!
Becky
************************
JUST US
Hutch pulled up in the battered LTD behind Huggy's bar. He patted the dashboard of the dusty car proudly. At least he understood the car's moods even if he hadn't yet figured out his own. Hutch pushed and shoved at the driver's door, using all his frustration as leverage. When it finally gave way, out he flew, landing on his knees in the dirt.
"Shit" Hutch sat back on his heels as he studied his surroundings. At least there wasn't anyone to witness his foolish mishap. But it's as if his car was scolding him already for what he was about to do.
Hutch stood up and kicked at the tire. He growled another swear word under his breath as he made his way into the quiet bar. It wasn't yet 11 a.m. so the bar wasn't officially open. But Hutch knew the secret to unlock the door. He kicked the bottom of the door once, pushed at the handle and slapped the door frame until the door popped open. He looked around him to be sure no one had seen him breaking into the back of the bar. But the business owners in the area knew about Starsky and Hutch and their friendship with Huggy. The other business people were glad for the connection to the police force. Even if it was just for show, it kept away a lot of the clients that the area was working hard to force out.
Hutch let himself in and sidestepped a few boxes that sat waiting to be unpacked. He read the sides, wanting to reassure himself that it wasn't meat that had been sitting unrefrigerated.
BAY CITY LAUNDRY and BAY CITY CUTLERY in bold, black letters announced the contents of the boxes.
"Cutlery? You mean those bent up forks and dull knives are cutlery?"
Hutch laughed to himself at the sad shape of most of the silverware in the bar.
Hutch flipped on the overhead lights as he moved toward the bar. He fingered the money in his jacket pocket and pulled out the two one hundred dollar bills. He slapped them both on the bar, then made his way behind the bar itself. He looked around but it was a bit early to expect Huggy yet. He normally didn't open until one p.m. but Hutch had told the black bar owner he'd be stopping by early today. Huggy trusted both Starsky and Hutch so he wouldn't have had a reason to doubt the need for the early arrival.
Hutch put both hands flat on the surface. He stood looking out over the empty room. His eyes wandered to the booth that he and Starsky always seemed to gravitate to. They'd had some good times sitting there in that booth. Hutch wondered if that would ever happen again.
Six weeks since Starsky was gunned down by James Marshal Gunther's hit men. Starsky seemed to be doing well but still had a long way to go. Just as he had come to dread the minute to minute schedule of pain and fear in the hospital, he kept the ultimate goal of going home in front of him. Now that he was more mobile and able to stay awake for longer periods of time, he was able to focus more on his surroundings which included Hutch. Always anxious that his friend have time for himself, Starsky tried to convince Hutch to take time away from the hospital during the day and resume a more normal life.
Life could never be normal again for either one of them, but it helped Starsky to be able to concentrate on something other than his own fears. He couldn't control what happened to him in the hospital, but he could at least make sure that Hutch had time away from the sterile, structured and frenetic pace of a hospital routine. One of them had to have a life of their own.
Hutch smiled now and wondered what his friend would think about this chunk of time.
He sighed and bent down to the bottom shelf of the bar. There, he poked around and pushed the bat out of his way. He supposed Huggy'd used that bat a time or two when things got rough. Huggy hadn't mentioned any problems lately. He'd have to ask. Hutch had been so preoccupied with Starsky that life outside of that small circle didn't exist anymore. Hutch shoved a locked metal box out of his way. He didn't want to know what was in there. It was locked and he didn't see a key anywhere. So he figured even Huggy had secrets.
Finally, Hutch found the cardboard box he was looking for. He lifted it up and set it on the counter. He opened the lid and let out a satisfied sigh in anticipation of how many glasses he had at his disposal.
These were the glasses known as rejects. Huggy couldn't legally use them anymore because if he did, the health department would take away his bar license for using unacceptable bar wear. But Huggy kept them when his dishwasher quit or if he didn't like a troublemaker customer. There were people he didn't like coming into his bar but he couldn't refuse them entrance. So if he saw somebody he wanted gone, Huggy's strategy was to use the chipped, really scratched up glasses and the dull knives so that the person would get disgusted and leave. If that didn't get to him, then he'd instruct the waitress to be slow in serving and then that combined with the gross utensils, well, the undesirable patron would get the message.
Rejects. Hutch held up a deeply scratched and chipped glass. He felt like a reject. He should be grateful that Starsky was living and recuperating but hell, Hutch felt all scratched up and chipped himself.
He lined all 12 glasses up on the bar. They were all different sizes. Some were water glasses. Most were shot glasses. Three of them were beer mugs. He moved those away from the rest and put the remaining glasses in a neat row, according to height and shape.
He turned around again and stared at the neatly arranged bottles of liquor. The different colors of glass caught the light and the reflection in the mirror made him blink against the contrast. He chose a bottle simply because it was the closest to his hand. He picked it up and grabbed a shot glass at the same time. Setting his prizes on the bar, he opened the bottle and inhaled the strong smell of the whiskey. He poured some into the shot glass and held that glass up to the light. The amber fluid held no answers or reassurance of better times ahead so instead of continuing to stare, he downed the contents of the glass. The glass rattled against the bottle as he set both temporarily out of his way.
Hutch sat on the stool and picked up one of the rejected glasses. He spoke to the room, himself as the only audience.
"Okay, Starsky this first one is for the sleepless nights." Hutch held the glass against the bar and with a twitch of his wrist he sent the glass toward the opposite end. The glass didn't stop until it got to the end of the bar and dropped off to land with a quiet shattered sound on the floor.
The muted sound didn't seem enough to wipe out those sleepless nights. Most nights even though Starsky had all his pills, everything had been done for the day that could possibly help him continue his recovery, he still couldn't find a position that didn't cause or increase his pain. At the most Starsky got about 2 hours of restless sleep before Hutch would hear him groaning and shifting in bed. Some nights, Starsky slept sitting up, either in a recliner set up in his room or the hospital bed itself.
Through much arguing and cajoling, Hutch had finally convinced Dr. Stevens and then the nursing staff, that he could be a great help to their patient. Finally he'd been granted unconditional access to Starsky.
Actually, the nurses appreciated what Hutch willingly took over in terms of Starsky's care. Hutch did all those little things that at first had embarrassed the recuperating man. Changing the bed, sponging him off with cool, soapy water, even emptying and recording the output of the catheter helped Hutch feel that he was contributing, doing something to help his friend.
The nurses saw how Starsky relaxed and calmed when Hutch was around to distract him from a particularly difficult procedure, the difficult and grueling physical therapy or nights when Starsky, for a variety of reasons, just couldn't sleep. Hutch figured the nurses had grown weary of making late night phone calls on Starsky's behalf.
Occasionally Starsky would convince Hutch that he should go home and sleep in his own bed instead of on the small, thin cot that had been brought in for him. On those nights, his final warning to Starsky was that if he needed him, he should call. It didn't matter the hour or the reason, but Hutch wanted to be available to Starsky. But it was never his friend who placed that phone call.
In an uneasy sleep, Hutch would curl up on his bed, trying to shut out the images of the day. Usually just as he was about to get up anyway, the phone rang, shrilling loudly in the quiet, dark apartment.
"—Lo?" Hutch grabbed the receiver, already knowing who was on the other line.
"Hi Ken. It's Margaret." Margaret was the night nurse on duty for the past few weeks. She had come to understand the friendship between her patient and his partner.
Sitting up and rubbing his sore back, Hutch switched the phone to the other ear as he glanced at the clock. "a little later than usual",, he thought as he gripped the receiver.
"Is everything alright? I mean, anything…" Margaret heard the strain in Hutch's voice and hurried to reassure him that it wasn't anything out of the ordinary.
"David's just not able to sleep. He refuses any extra pain dosage. I've already massaged his back, but he's just restless."
Hutch sighed, rubbing the crease between his eyes. He wondered what it would be like to sleep through the night, for himself as well as Starsky.
"I guess I should have just stayed tonight. He had such a rough physical therapy session today." Hutch spoke with a sigh. Starsky was making progress but neither man could accept the cost of that improvement.
"He didn't ask for you, he never does." The image of Starsky uncomfortable and anxious was usually when Margaret called Hutch. The emotional pain was often worse than the physical and she knew the only person who could help with that was Hutch.
"It's okay, I couldn't sleep myself and was just getting up. Maybe a milkshake would satisfy him. I'll throw in a little of my special ingredients." Hutch smiled as he heard Margaret laugh on the other end of the line. It was a game that both of them played. Trying to think of things to tempt Starsky's fickle appetite but always sliding in something healthy. He would make a face whenever Hutch brought him something from home, but Starsky would drink it, eat it or sip at it the best he could, grateful for whatever he could accomplish.
Hutch set the phone back on the cradle as he got up from the bed. He rotated his neck and stretched his arms over his head. Another day. Another opportunity to help Starsky fight for everything he could.
As for Hutch, he was still floating on the fact that Starsky was even alive. In the beginning, Starsky couldn't open his eyes because he was just too damn sick. Then Hutch began counting the times those eyes did slit open to reveal their color. Finally, Starsky stayed awake and the day he actually was able to hold a conversation without falling asleep in the middle of it, was the first of many blessings that Hutch kept track of.
But it was at night when the shadows slid around the room followed by the ghosts of an accident that Starsky couldn't recall that left him gasping for breath, sometimes crying out for Hutch. He couldn't remember the nightmare, only that he would be left clawing at his chest, feeling the life being pulled out of him.
****************************************
"Well, let's try this next one." Hutch held another shot glass from the line up in front of him.
"This one's for the time you spend throwing up and in pain." Hutch pushed the next glass to follow the first. It crashed down to the floor along with the first one.
Hutch wiped at his eyes as he thought of the sensitive reaction Starsky still had with most foods. His once endless and bottomless appetite now had a very short limit of acceptable foods. Starsky's system was so sensitive that even the smell of food as it was being delivered down the hall would be enough to send his stomach into spasms. Then gradually he was weaned off the feeding tube until he could tolerate liquid protein supplements, then on to soft foods until he could manage a few bites of something simple and bland like spaghetti without sauce, a small helping of mashed potatoes and sometimes he could even manage turkey and stuffing but without the gravy. But no matter what he ate, how much or how bland, most of it would reappear a few hours later. Hutch constantly struggled with not only tempting Starsky with something to eat but the discouraged attitude that had over taken Starsky.
As Hutch contemplated the whisky bottle in his hands, he thought about all that Starsky was able to do that he couldn't only a few weeks ago. He frowned into the contents of the bottle, unable to see what he was looking for.
It was damn hard to think of pain and sweat as a reasonable barometer of the headway everyone assured them that was taking place. He measured the days by degrees rather than minute or hour. Degrees of pain; degrees of progress. But at any given moment, it seemed that everything Starsky had managed to gain fell away in a puddle of sweat, tears or some other uncontrollable bodily fluid. He fought for wellness as hard as he used to fight against crime. It seemed that for hours on end he would wrestle against the urge to give up, panting through his defeat. Some days, only by sheer will and a belief in the determined stare of his partner, did Starsky continue.
Some days were just harder than others. The other day was a perfect example.
After a particularly difficult day of therapy and tests and poking and prodding, Starsky wanted only one thing.
He took a deep, exhausted breath. Shifting in bed caused another round of nausea and muscle pain. He fell back against the pillow, his eyes never leaving Hutch's. He whispered, "who else is gonna come in here, wantin'' somthin' outta me?"
Reaching over to lay a steady, comforting hand on his friend's forehead, Hutch answered,
"It's just us now buddy. Rest awhile. It's just us."
Blinking away the difficult memory, Hutch helped himself to another shot of whisky. He silently saluted Starsky and thought about another thing that scared the hell out of him.
Hutch was lost in his salute to Starsky and never heard the back door bang shut or the swear words as Huggy made his way from the kitchen into the bar area.
Huggy staggered into the large room limping and cursing the boxes his night crew had left untouched. The boxes should have been emptied, the contents put away and the kitchen cleaned before everyone's shift ended. Sometimes he wondered why he hung on to this bar. It was just too much sometimes. He often thought about selling it but then he'd miss the friends he'd made and secretly, Huggy was proud of himself. He'd managed to make a name for himself in this end of town. He was trusted and respected, something he'd worked hard to accomplish.
Now Huggy watched his friend who was totally oblivious to the other man's presence. Huggy could tell he was lost in some nightmarish memory and was sure that the cause of that was Starsky.
Everyone knew what Gunther's bullets had done to Starsky, but not everyone took into account how those same bullets affected Hutch.
Hutch hadn't been to the bar for two months now. This was the first time Huggy really had a chance to observe his friend. He was shocked at how thin Hutch was and how pale.
Huggy was about to find out exactly what was going on with the lined up glasses and the opened bottle of whisky.
Hutch murmured under his breath and all Huggy could make out was Starsky's name then an empty shot glass came flying toward his position at the end of the bar. He caught the projectile before it reached its destination. Only then did Hutch notice he was not alone.
"Hey, you're messing with my game!"
Hutch wasn't drunk, just tired as he greeted his friend. "Don't you know about voodoo and such stuff? If I list the things that I hate and at the same time break I the glass, the evil spell will be broken and everything will be alright again!"
Huggy watched as Hutch struggled to keep his emotions under control. He figured Hutch had been trying to keep this control for too long and now it was time to let his feelings fly. Usually serious and practical but today, the man had lost those characteristics. They were replaced with the need to erase ugly nightmares with superstitions and bargains. Nothing else seemed to be working so in order to understand something that made no sense, he'd approach his problems in the same way.
"It would make me quite happy if you'd desist from breaking any more of my glasses." Huggy laughed, trying to lighten Hutch's somber mood.
Hutch shook himself and answered his friend. He pointed to the money on the bar as he took out another one hundred dollar bill.
"Hug, that should take care of the glasses I'm breaking and the booze that I'm drinking. Now, just stay out of my way."
Hutch stared at the remaining glasses still lining the bar. He picked up one of the beer mugs and played with it before he said anything.
"This mug represents James Marshal Gunther and how much I hate him. He took Starsky away from me Huggy. Do you realize that? Starsky is so apprehensive about everything now. But along with that, he's just so quiet and pretty damn stubborn."
Without warning, Hutch flung the beer mug down the bar and flinched as it shattered with a louder thud than the smaller glasses had.
Huggy shook his head and peered at the shards of broken glass. He lifted the half piece of wood that separated from the rest of the bar and stepped through. Still not addressing Hutch, he picked up the phone, dialed and waited until there was an answer on the other end.
......'Diane, call the other girls who are supposed to work today and tell them ya'll have the day off..... Yeah, a day off with pay! .... Sort of.. it's a tall blond emergency. Starsky's okay but Hutch needs a bear hug so go have fun on me today. See ya girl!'
Huggy put the phone down, reached over to the mirror and pulled up a sign. He flashed it at Hutch as he walked to the front door. He put the 'closed- family emergency' sign below the regular 'closed' sign and came back to sit with his friend.
"Now suppose you tell me what's so damn important that it takes breaking my stemware to get rid of whatever nightmare is stalking you."
Hutch reached for the bottle but Huggy stopped him with a firm hand. Hutch just frowned but didn't argue. It was time to get the ugly thoughts out of his head.
"Huggy, I can't stand what this has done to Starsky. Those bullets took the soul out of him. He keeps telling me he wants to do everything himself but I can't stand to see the pain and hear his moans. Everything is such a struggle and there's very little I can do to make it better. What I really want is for it all just to go away." Hutch made a pass with his hand across his eyes and hung his head. He looked up again when he felt Huggy's hand on his arm.
"I'm just so scared for him. He's lost weight and I don't see the physical therapy helping. I wish......."
"Go on man, what were ya gonna say?" Huggy encouraged Hutch to finish his thoughts. No matter what he had to say, Huggy doubted that it would change how the blond and the curly one felt about each other.
"You don't understand, hell, I don't understand any of this but Huggy, I swear to you that I am grateful that Starsky is still alive. I just..."
Again, Hutch's voice stuck in his throat. The awful truth he was about to say tasted like vinegar in his mouth.
"Huggy, I think it might have been kinder on him if he woulda died! I can't believe that I even think that, but then he wouldn't be going through this hell. I wouldn't have to hear him cry during physical therapy or be so angry that he throws anything he can get his hands on."
Hutch lowered his head, ashamed to see the shock he knew he'd see in the brown eyes if he looked up.
It seemed time stood still. The bar was quiet and Hutch couldn't put off seeing the disappointment in Huggy. He forced his head back up.
Huggy waited till Hutch completely focused on his face before he responded.
"That, my friend, is a statement I'm glad you finally let yourself admit. It ain't no sin to wish that Starsky wasn't suffering. You wouldn't be human if you only wanted him to be at peace. But man, he will have that and so will you."
Huggy reached out to squeeze his friend's shoulder. He held Hutch's gaze with his own watery brown eyes. He cleared his throat before he spoke again.
"When was the last time ya slept a whole night? You look like shit." Out of habit, Huggy grabbed a bar towel and draped it over his shoulder. He tried to ignore the tears that stung his eyes. For something to do, he vigorously swiped the towel across the already gleaming wood.
"Gee Hug; you have a way of making a guy feel better. Do cat naps add up to 8 hours?" A tired smile crept over Hutch's face but didn't reach his eyes.
Realizing that talk could only do so much, Huggy reached for the whisky bottle sitting beside his friend. Hutch glared, not ready to have this liquid crutch taken from him. Raising his brow, the lanky man grabbed a shot glass, filled his own then replenished the empty one.
They silently raised their glasses to each other. As the whisky hit his stomach, Huggy set the shot glass down, then picked up one of Hutch's reject glasses. He raised the beer mug, turning it this way and that, inspecting the chips and cracks.
"I say, this one represents the biggest demon of all, your guilt. Let it go Hutch." With that, Huggy set the glass down on the bar, flicked it back and forth a few times in his hand, then with all the energy behind that thought, he let it fly with a crisp flick of his wrist.
The glass splintered and fell to the floor, mingling with the other pieces.
"It's gonna take a bigger glass than that to erase all that I'm sorry for. It's not just feeling guilty because he got shot up like he did, but Huggy; I've been a real bastard. Look how I've treated him over the last few months. We were just getting our groove back as friends when this shit went down." Hutch went to pour more whisky in his glass, changed his mind and took a healthy guzzle from the bottle. He set it down and wiped the corner of his mouth.
"Well, this ain't the way to fix anything. C'mon, Hutch. You need to rest. Go on up stairs. You know the way." Huggy gently pried the bottle out of Hutch's grasp. At the mention of the bedroom upstairs, Hutch's face turned paler and his eyes misted over.
"Go Hutch, get some rest. The bar's closed today and I got paperwork to do, so it'll be quiet. It's just us, ya dig?"
Hutch grabbed for the bottle again but this time, Huggy batted his hand away and set the bottle under the bar. He came around to join his friend, grasping him by the forearm.
Hutch swayed, opened his mouth to argue but all that came out was a groan.
As they reached the steps, Hutch glanced up as he held on to the rail.
"He's a good guy, Huggy. I love him, ya know?"
*******************************************************
Huggy wished he knew how to help both Starsky and Hutch. He stood at the bottom as his friend climbed the steps. He noted the slow, measured steps as the blond pulled himself up toward the room at the top. He saw the rounded shoulders and winced as a groan followed each footstep. Hutch wasn't drunk enough to totally erase reality; instead his inebriated state just darkened the truth. As Hutch reached his destination he turned back toward his friend below. The two men exchanged a look but did not speak. Hutch felt the assurance of friendship offered and Huggy only recognized fear in the blue eyes that stared back at him.
Huggy waved Hutch onward and made his way to the office at the back of the building. He wanted to come up with something that would provide both of his friends with hope if not healing. Paperwork would keep him busy for a couple of hours and he hoped that Hutch would be able to use that time to rest his mind if not his body.
Sitting at the desk, Huggy shuffled a few papers and made a detailed search for a favorite pen. He lifted his eyes to the ceiling as he heard the floor boards groan. Obviously Hutch was restless but then, the bed springs complained and rattled until finally all was quiet.
Huggy shimmied his butt against the seat, wiggling until he found a comfortable position in the chair and bit at the end of the pen as he studied the numbers and words that floated before him. Not really concentrating on what was in front of him, he wondered again how he could help his friends see the light of better days.
%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%
Huggy had told his friend that he had work to do and expected Hutch to rest.
"Fat chance of that happening any time soon!", Hutch grumbled to himself.
Once in the small apartment complete with a table and chairs, bathroom and sagging bed, Hutch paced. He acknowledged the ghosts that had greeted him when he'd entered the room. He'd made peace a long time ago with his time of addiction. He still felt greatly disappointed and embarrassed that he'd given in and told Ben Forrest where Jeanie was all because he wanted a fix. He'd learned a lot about himself that time especially how much he trusted Starsky. So why over the years had he tested that trust? He was positive he'd taken advantage of that trust but only on a personal level. They never lost their ability to perform and function as a team on the streets. But lately, there was tension between them and Hutch felt responsible for that. Not until the day they were playing ping pong in the squad room did he begin to feel the rift between them closing up. The wacky game had been fun and their comfort with each other had been restored. Until it all came apart in the police garage.
Sitting on the bed, he bent over to take his shoes off, only to be greeted by a wave of nausea. Whether it was the booze or the memory of the shooting, Hutch wasn't sure but refused to give in to the weakness. He sat upright, rubbed at the crease between his eyes and then slipped the shirt up over his head and tossed it beside his shoes. Slowly he stretched out on the bed and waited for it to stop spinning. Much better than the thin cot he had occupied in Starsky's room, he sighed at the softness beneath him.
Hutch turned over in bed. He tried to adjust his long legs to fit the short mattress. How could he shut out all the terrible images of that day and those that followed? How could he erase the guilt of the past and help Starsky build a new future? He punched at the skimpy pillow under his head and pushed it up into a firmer lump. He twisted again, growing frustrated with the tangle of sheet and blanket. Throwing his arm over his eyes, he wondered how he could help Starsky have a little release from the hurt and discomfort he endured daily.
He admired his friend's ability to put up with all that had happened to him. Starsky didn't complain directly about the pain. It was more frustration at not being able to be in control and be independent. The man grew impatient with himself as he tried to force his body to accomplish the simplest of tasks. That caused him to be short tempered at times; lashing out at the one person he trusted the most. Hutch often bit his lip rather than answer back in the same negative, hurtful tone. He understood where the anger came from and that he was the target but not the cause.
Finally, giving up trying to sleep, Hutch rolled out of bed and walked over to the bathroom. He braced his arms across the door frame, leaning into the small room. The purpose was to stretch his tense body and try to work out the kinks in his back. The days of sitting in unforgiving plastic chairs and sleeping in a droopy, too soft cot had taken its toll. His mind drifted to all those nights on stakeout, sitting in the car or trying to fit his long frame in the back seat to catch a few minutes of sleep. How was it possible that it had only been a few months ago that his body seemed to thrive on little sleep and stress filled cases and now, he felt an old man. The mental pressure and lack of sleep had affected him greatly in the past weeks.
He pushed away from the door frame and turned back toward the bed. Changing his mind, he sank down to the stuffed chair that faced the bed. He let his legs unfold before him and he closed his eyes to try and slow his mind. He pushed those depressing thoughts away and forced himself to think of better days. At Huggy's downstairs; eating, playing pool, sharing beer and good times, that's what he wanted to think about. How often did they share a fast meal as they waited in the car for something to happen, anything that would break open a case? Even in each other's homes, they would eat together, cook for each other or share a pizza and beer?
Hutch's eyes snapped open as he pictured those good times. Maybe that was the answer. He wanted to show Starsky how much he cared about him and that sharing food was evidence of a normal, everyday event.
He sat up straighter in the chair. In one quick move he stood up, ready to head downstairs. But the room swayed around him and he realized that what he needed most right then was to rest, just like Huggy had told him to do. Moving toward the bed, he lowered himself down and leaned back against the wall. He sat hugging the pillow with his eyes closed. Yes, he thought of that time a few years ago when in that very room, he'd been held and comforted while going through a difficult withdrawal. It was Starsky that had got him through with a positive attitude. He'd refused to let Hutch give in to the drug and challenged him by the minute to keep fighting against the desire. He could still feel Starsky's strong arms around him, holding him, comforting him. Not embarrassed but rather inspired by that memory, Hutch scrunched down flat on the bed, still clutching the pillow.
With that memory offering hope, he realized he wanted to do the same for Starsky. He wanted to help the man hold on and to offer the same unwavering belief that it would be possible to overcome the trauma he was in the middle of.
But now, the alcohol seemed to suddenly make him very sleepy. He couldn't keep his eyes open but promised himself that he would rest for just a few minutes then he'd get up and start his plan to offer comfort and support to his partner. He curled his body into a ball and finally, his mind shut down, allowing Hutch to rest.
***********************************************************
"Paul Muni Special?" As the remnants of the dream floated away, Starsky's favorite meal was the only thing that he was left with. Opening his eyes, he turned over with the intention of sitting up, but Hutch changed his mind when the lead filled ping pong balls rolled around against his skull.
"Crap! Why'd I ever…" Hutch sank back against the mattress and covered his eyes with his hand. After a series of groans and a couple attempts to sit up, he finally succeeded in getting his body to roll to the edge of the mattress. Slowly he sat up and his feet hit the floor with a thud.
Suddenly coming fully awake, he glanced at his watch. It was already early evening, meaning he'd slept at least three hours. True to his word, Huggy had provided a safe haven for Hutch to escape to. No nightmares, no ghosts, not even pieces of bad dreams invaded his rest. But why the hell had he awakened thinking of Starsky's most requested dinner? No way could he eat that at this point. The meat would be too fatty and the gravy too greasy but a thought began to form.
If Huggy would get in touch with Dobey and meet him at the hospital later… Hutch checked his watch again. Actually it was Starsky's watch. Unable to hold back memories, the stuff of nightmares landed in front of him. Fully awake he watched it all play out again, that terrible day immediately after Starsky had been gunned down in the police parking lot.
---They'd taken his watch off him in the emergency room. Hutch was right there the whole time. But doctors and nurses were in such a hurry to strip Starsky of his belongings that they just threw everything aside, including the leather jacket. He slid as close as he could to his friend but retrieved the leather jacket. He held it close, clutching it like a life preserver, until the hand on his shoulder made him look away from the bleeding figure on the gurney. He focused on the hand, it was black and it shook, there on his shoulder. Reluctantly, Hutch handed over the jacket to Captain Dobey but the watch caught his eye next. It was sitting on the counter surrounded by equipment and bandages, along with the two rings. He grabbed the watch and rings and stuffed them in his pocket, then moved off to the opposite wall. ---
%%%%%%%%%%%%%%
Shaking off those memories that still had the ability to drag him back through that black hole, Hutch concentrated now on Starsky's watch. He'd kept that watch in his pocket during the next few weeks which had turned into months. For awhile he kept it in his pocket. He rubbed it like it was magic, or like one of those lamps that if you rubbed it a Genie would appear and grant you three wishes. Well, his first wish came true. He'd gotten his friend back. But Hutch was afraid to wish for anything more. He didn't want to press his luck. That's kinda why he'd set up all those glasses downstairs. Instead of wishing for luck, he thought he could bargain his fears away. Hutch knew that nothing could exorcize his guilt or what had happened to either one of them in the past few months, but if nothing else, it gave Hutch the feeling that he could at least try. Hutch's determination and Starsky's inner strength would undoubtedly lead to a complete recovery.
Renewed with energy and an idea, Hutch scooped up his shirt, slid his arms through but let it hang open. With more than a little impatience, he snapped his fingers as a last minute reminder to freshen up before leaving. He grabbed the toothpaste out of the medicine cabinet then hunched over the sink. Hutch squeezed some onto his finger and slid the minty stuff around his teeth. He cupped his hand to capture some water and swished that around in his mouth. He splashed water on his face and as he lifted his head to grab for a towel, his hands fell away, revealing the true image of his soul in the mirror. Hutch didn't' recognize the stranger's tired face full of anguish that stared back at him. He was struck by the haggard man he saw there. He had avoided mirrors lately for just this reason.
'Well, at least the mirror didn't break', Hutch said to the image in the mirror.
'Enough with the superstitions', Hutch scolded himself. There was no magic strong enough, no incantation loud enough or any other lucky charm that would reverse what happened or make any of it go away. The only thing there was to count on was each other. Hutch knew that with time, hard work and love, his friend would overcome all his current obstacles.
But now, it was time to do something really fun and bring back some of the old Starsky. Hutch had an idea that he felt sure would be a blast.
Hutch made a bee line to the steps leading back down to the bar. The headache was still there and he was still slightly tipsy, but none of it would get in the way of his plans.
"Huggy! Hey man, where are ya?" With more energy than he'd had in weeks, Hutch bolted down the steps, calling out to his friend.
He stopped at the bottom while he waited for his stomach to catch up to him. His belly rumbled and was a bit jumpy. Food for himself might be a good idea. He was just about to head to the kitchen when the sound of broken glass caught his attention.
Standing at the end of the bar, he watched as Huggy cleaned up the mess he'd made earlier. Feeling a bit embarrassed, Hutch shuffled across to his friend and took the broom from the bar tender's hands. Hutch couldn't help but laugh as he caught sight of Huggy's brightly colored cap, set at a jaunty angle.
"Ya aren't gonna break any more of my glasses are you?" Huggy stepped back, giving Hutch room to finish sweeping up the shards of glass. He leaned against the bar, his arms folded in front of him.
"Nah, there isn't a magical spell anywhere that can fix what's happened to Starsk. It'll take a whole lotta guts and a shit load of confidence to get him back on his feet. But I got a great idea and you can help me with it!"
Ignoring the implication of the enthusiastic words for the moment, Huggy leaned down as Hutch directed the mess into the dust pan. With the dust pan secured, the lean black man carried the contents to the kitchen, dumped it into the big trash can and made his way back to the bar.
"First of all, you want somethin' to eat? Ya look like ya need some food to soak up that booze you still got running through you. Why don't ya sit here and I'll make you a burger?" Noting the silly grin on Hutch's face, Huggy couldn't help asking,
"What's up with the shit faced grin?"
Hutch sat on the stool, facing the room. He glanced at the booth that he and Starsky shared when they were there to eat and relax. Huggy noticed again that lonely shadow that passed over the pale face. But in the next minute, Hutch did his best to conceal that shadow with renewed interest in an idea that Huggy waited to hear about.
"Yeah, yeah, ok, but make it fast because I gotta get busy and so do you!" Hutch giggled; a sound which Huggy had not heard in a long time.
Within half an hour, both men were feasting on burgers and a fresh garden salad. Hutch didn't realize just how hungry he was. He savored the taste of the meat and the salad just popped with fresh veggies and a surprising dressing that Huggy had made just for them. It had been a long time since food had been so flavorful and he was pretty certain the company had a lot to do with it. That's why he was equally certain that what he had in mind would be just the thing to brighten Starsky's mood.
Wiping his chin with the napkin, Hutch leaned back in the chair, satisfied and content. The earlier buzz left over from the alcohol had faded some, but now he just felt light headed with anticipation. Also for the first time in a long time, Hutch had enjoyed a meal without wolfing down his food just to get the nourishment which mainly he hadn't cared about. He knew he had to eat but it was more important to get back to Starsky.
The conversation during dinner had consisted of every day ordinary things. Mostly it was Huggy telling his friend stories about what had gone on in the bar; the crazy people he'd had to throw out, the pin ball winners and losers and a waitress he had to fire when he found her in the back alley, servicing one of his customers.
"I wasn't thrilled with how she was taking his order!" Huggy tried his best to keep a stern look on his face, but lost that as Hutch let out a genuine belly laugh.
"Man, it's good to hear you kick back finally. But what's all this about anyway?" Huggy waited until his companion took another long drink of iced tea. The pleasure that registered on his friend's face was priceless, no matter how crazy of an idea he might have. He readied himself to go along with any scheme that would give both of these men a reason to smile and laugh.
"Listen up… You got a big serving dish around here? You know something fancy that I can use? Then, you go find Dobey, tell him to pick up a snack tray and meet me in Starsky's room in say…" Hutch bent over to grab Huggy's wrist, squinted at the watch and mentally decided how long he'd need.
"… meet me there around 11 tonight. That'll give me time to make what I have in mind and get ready for a party!"
"You gotta be kiddin' me! It'll be way past visiting hours. How do ya think we'll get past the nurses station? Those women won't let me even get off the elevator that time a night!" Even though Huggy was complaining, he could already see that Hutch couldn't be more serious. He cleared his throat and steadied his voice.
"Very well. But what the hell are you gonna be makin' that you need a silver serving dish?" Figuring it would just be easier to go along with and enjoy the conspiracy, Huggy got up, wiggled his finger at Hutch as an invitation to join him and led the way to the kitchen.
Rummaging around in a few cupboards, he finally came up with the dish he had in mind. Hutch's face lit up with joy, convincing Huggy that not only was this dude crazy, but he had to be crazy himself for going along with such a harebrained, ridiculously marvelous plan.
Hutch gleefully accepted the tray and waved as he headed out to his car. As the door shut, Huggy went to the phone in the bar, checked his watch and dialed the Captain's home phone number. At least, he hoped he was home this time of night rather than running himself ragged still at the office.
Fortunately, Captain Dobey picked up the phone himself on the third ring. Somewhat out of breath, he was surprised to hear Huggy on the other end of the phone.
Quickly, Huggy apologized for the late hour and further reinforced that all was fine with Starsky.
"Then if everything is fine, what are you calling me at home for?" Dobey blew out a sigh of relief but tried covering up his concern with a brusque manner.
"Well, for starters, this ain't my idea." Huggy softened his voice rather than take the grumpy attitude personally. "Hutch wanted me to call you and invite you to a party."
********************************************************
Seemed to be a great reason to celebrate; Starsky was finally off all machines, surgeries were a thing of the past and he was progressing with physical therapy.
Somehow, Hutch wanted to show Starsky that despite all the crap he'd been through, his friends wouldn't let him lose his sense of humor. That was the reason for this crazy party idea. Also, Hutch had an overwhelming need to be close to his friend. Throughout the entire first weeks, Hutch had been too scared, too overwhelmed by the machines, tubes and constant activity that surrounded his friend to even touch him. Closeness had always been a way of life for them. Never shy about touching or showing affection, during the first weeks that Starsky was in ICU and his life so precarious, Hutch never touched him. The mass of tubes in and out of just about every part of his body and the leads and wires connected to so many machines, seemed to inhibit any closeness. As he stared daily at all of that, Hutch was afraid that to breach any of that, would upset the balance of life that his friend precariously teetered on or somehow interfere with the clinical care necessary to keep him alive. He was afraid Starsky would break.
Trying to push all that out of his mind, Hutch moved around his kitchen, concentrating on the veal, sautéing it in wine, cooking it until tender. As he prepared the dish, he took another sip of the wine he'd poured for himself. He felt the buzz of the alcohol return, but this time, he welcomed the sense of cheer and used that to propel himself to finish up in the kitchen. Leaving the utensils, left over ingredients and the sink full of dishes, Hutch finally had everything ready to take to Starsky. He was confident that Huggy had found Dobey and that all four of them would meet up soon for a much needed reprieve from the serious side life had taken.
Hutch had no trouble getting into Starsky's room. It was quite late but the nurses were used to seeing Hutch at all hours leaving, entering or walking the halls for exercise. The nurses didn't really pay any attention to the man with a large serving dish in his hands. If they had been really monitoring their patient, they probably would have questioned Hutch but still would have allowed the unusual visit. As it was, the head nurse and two aides were in a room down the hall tending to another patient. So when Dobey and then Huggy snuck past the desk, there was only one aide and she didn't care about anything but her movie magazine.
Hutch quickly entered Starsky's room and without giving it a second thought, dove into bed beside his friend. Hutch was giddy from the wine but also just because he could finally get close enough to feel his partner's heart beating and bask in the fact that Starsky was actually alive.
It was a good idea at the time, thought Hutch. It started out to be so simple; just four friends having fun and loving life. But, well that was the best of it, followed too quickly with the worst that could have happened and by far the dumbest.
That night, they were all high on something. Starsky, obviously high on pain killers; Hutch, still influenced by his many toasts to ghosts earlier and now drunk from sampling the wine he'd used in the veal dish. Dobey was just in a rare uninhibited mood and Huggy also had sampled a bottle from his private stock before selecting just the right one for the evening's festivities.
They savored that silliness; wanting to remember what it was like to be free. Perhaps that's why that night, by the time the water got shut off, even though the bed was a mess of soppy, cold sheets and Starsky shivered uncontrollably with dampness even after being shifted to another room and given dry clothes and extra blankets, even the nurses didn't stay angry for long. At first everyone was scared when they heard the peels of laughter and swearing coming from room 228 which was usually quiet and orderly. The nurses all converged but remained motionless in the doorway for a full minute, taking in the scene. Imagine their surprise; two men in the same bed, hysterical and hugging each other while the other two illegal visitors hopped around grousing at each other as to who was at fault.
Security came next and they joined the gaggle of nurses still mesmerized by such an unusual sight. The head of security though, quickly went to the main switch and got the water shut off but not before two firemen complete with hatchets, dressed in full safety gear including oxygen tanks strapped on for good measure, made their way to the party.
Dobey got his act together and ushered the security team and firemen into the make shift office he'd used during the beginning of Starsky's confinement. He tried to regain control of his thoughts and shift back into 'captain mode'.
"Look fellas, we were just letting off steam. No harm done really, was there? No charges need to be filed and believe me the clean up will be taken care of by all four of us." Captain Dobey stood tall, trying to regain his composure among this group of professional men. Even though they all had their serious faces on, the security chief was already trying to hide his amusement.
"Harold, we know you've all been through hell with your man Starsky. Having some fun should be part of recovery, but, well, no more okay?" Randall Phillips had been the security chief at Memorial Hospital for five years. He'd seen everything from angry family members to investigating odd noises in patient rooms. Those noises most of the time were two lovers in the same bed. Then he'd just backed out quietly from the room, reported to the nurse's station that everything was in order and left. He saved his laughter for when he was alone in the elevator.
But the sprinkler system party had to be the best ever. It would be talk of the security team for a long time. He couldn't blame the guys for having some fun. But he had to maintain order somehow so he just made sure that Huggy and Captain Dobey left soon after. It was useless getting Hutchinson to leave.
Hutch hovered over his friend, concerned about the shaking that started soon after the water had stopped cascading down over them.
"Starsky,how about some hot tea, maybe that would warm you up?" After all the commotion their stunt had caused, Hutch felt the adrenaline and alcohol drain away, leaving him suddenly very tired and very embarrassed.
"Yeah,sure." Starsky's teeth chattered around the two words and a smile spread across his face. He clutched at the blankets, dragging them up around his neck. But he was beginning to regret the party and its aftermath. The pain meds had worn off leaving him in the grip of muscle cramps and incision pain along his chest and stomach. He didn't dare complain to the nurses. They weren't too gentle when moving him to his new room and spoke in clipped, harsh words, directing him to change into clean pajamas which were dry but scratchy. Usually, one of the aides would scrounge around for the softest ones available, but at this time of night, the nurse didn't want to be bothered with his comfort. She was only interested in regaining control of her patient.
As Captain Dobey left, the big black man offered a wink and a nod to both his detectives. He pushed Huggy out the door in front of him, barely controlling the rumbling laughter as the two men headed out the door.
Hutch watched all this, staying out of the way as much as possible. The room grew quiet as Dobey and Huggy left. They all felt a little like they'd been reprimanded by the school principal for a practical joke that went astray. But they had enjoyed being together and just kicking back. For a few minutes, they'd been able to forget why they were there.
**********************************************************
Left alone after Dobey and Huggy left, Hutch continued to think of anything he could to help Starsky warm up. Margaret was on duty and had been in every 15 minutes, checking her patient's vital signs, including temperature and heart rate. She tried her best to be serious and disapproving with each check on her patient. Her lips were set in a thin line and her eyes never met Hutch's. She didn't speak to Hutch either which only mortified him further. His face was hot with a blush he was sure spread from his face down his neck. Then both Hutch and Starsky had to deal with the presence of Dr. Stevens. He'd responded to an emergency page to Starsky's room, fully expecting to need life saving equipment or at the very least, be ready to treat an infection and high fever.
What he found was one worn out looking visitor and a patient in a different room shivering and moaning. Hearing what had happened; he broke the tension in the room by slapping Hutch on the back and reaching for his glasses to wipe the tears out of his eyes, tears caused by the belly laugh he couldn't hold back.
Responding to another round of uncontrollable laughter in her patient's room, Margaret returned only to be caught up in the site of a normally reserved Dr. Stevens indulging in the joke with Starsky and Hutch. She couldn't help but join in, glad to finally let her guard down and respond to the whole situation like she'd wanted to but didn't feel she could at first.
This was the very reason Hutch trusted Margaret. She was capable and knowledgeable when it came to dealing with something important and dangerous, but also knew when a sense of humor would be just as effective.
"Well, I don't think any permanent damage was done." Dr. Stevens straightened up after examining Starsky. "No incisions were pulled loose, nothing bleeding or torn."
The physician listened one more time to Starsky's chest and back. He pulled the stethoscope from his ears and draped it across his shoulders.
"You might have dislocated your funny bone though!" The doctor chuckled to himself at his own joke. Starsky offered a weak smile and Hutch laughed lightly, grasping his friend's forearm and squeezing it.
"Sorry, we didn't mean to cause such a scene! My friends and I just wanted to let Starsky know we care about him. I'll help your maintenance department clean the mess up." Hutch shuffled toward the door but stopped as Starsky called to him.
"Hey, can ya stay a bit longer?" Starsky rolled gingerly toward the door. The doctor noticed the look of pain that crossed his patient's face and bent toward him to examine him further.
"I'm okay, doc, just tired. I know I'm not due for any pain meds for a few hours. I guess all that laughing didn't help but…" Starsky let out a breath as he shifted in bed. The twinge wasn't anything new but he felt embarrassed to be the cause of so much attention.
"Well, just stay in bed and tomorrow, take things slow. You'll probably be pretty stiff. May I suggest you hold off on any more celebrating for a week or two? Then you can do it at home."
The doctor let his words sink in as he headed out the door. Margaret followed the doctor to complete her notes in the chart. She didn't bother trying to hide her pleasure at the news they'd all just been given.
"Did ya hear that pal? He said you'd be going home soon!" Hutch's grin was wide and genuine. Starsky's eyes began to slide closed but all of the sudden just as the meaning of the words reached him, they opened and Starsky turned in bed, facing Hutch.
"I must be delirious. I think I just heard the word 'home'!" A yawn stopped Starsky from saying anything else. His eyes slid shut again but before sleep completely claimed him, he struggled to say something that was on his mind.
"Couldn't have got through this without you, Hutch." He yawned and snuggled deeper into his pillow. His hand that had been clutching the blanket to keep in the warmth began to relax and straighten out on his chest. Hutch reached for that hand, holding it lightly, indulging in the simple act of touch.
As Starsky drifted off to sleep, Hutch whispered to his friend,
"Anything's possible Starsk, when it's just us."
****************************
EPILOGUE
You've been there for me countless times. Saved me from any number of those dark, hopeless places. After what seemed like an eternity, thinking this might just be the death of me, I'd feel your strength and power and just as I'd hoped, it was just us.
So many times when I was in the devil's grip, my soul too weak to cry out, you'd swoop in and claim me as yours, defying anyone to deny it. And as always, we survived when it was just us.
The quicksand of our life often threatens to pull me under. You're there with a steely gaze or firm hand. When anger and hatred tempt me, you bring me back with the promise that we'll get through because it's just us.
When everything I love is taken from me, you hug me, accept me and absorb my grief. At that moment, all that matters is that it's just us.
The only way life makes sense is when it's just us. You keep me from myself when all I want to do is crawl inside my disappointment. You challenge me and respect me.
I believe in our life. I believe when it's just us.
***********
The End