Chapter 2

The ambulance in question pulled up five minutes later outside Memorial Hospital and unloaded the two unconscious cops from the back. Whilst Hutch was taken away to a quiet room to get checked over and sleep off the sedative, Starsky's inert body was rushed through the plastic curtains and taken into the ER. It was a hive of activity with doctors poised and already barking orders. The doctor and nurse who had been in the ambulance gave a brief summary of Starsky's injuries and current state and then turned their patient over to the medical team.

Throughout it all, David Starsky was living in a twilight world. He heard, as if from a great distance, Hutch's voice. It had spoken to him for a while, but now it wasn't there any more. It had been replaced by other voices, both male and female and in some dim recess of his mind, Starsky knew he was in a hospital. He wondered where Hutch was and for a moment felt panic flood through him. Had his partner been shot? Was Hutch ok? And then he remembered the soft, anxious voice after the final shots had rung out from the restaurant.

Stay with me buddy. Don't go to sleep. Not for a while yet huh? Wait till the medics get here.'

Hutch was ok and Starsky could relax. Except that he wondered what they were going to do to him. Hutch had said he had a bullet in his shoulder, but it felt worse than that. He felt cold, weak, as though he was floating somewhere above his own body, although he'd never believed in that mumbo jumbo. As though through a thick cloth, he could feel hands on his body, pulling and tugging at his clothes. He wanted to tell them to leave him alone. He'd only just broken those jeans in and he didn't want their scissors anywhere near him. He was cold and he needed a blanket…..and maybe a shot of tequila. It was too much effort to speak, however and even too tough to open his eyes. Instead, Starsky's mind started to think back to his last conversation with Hutch. If the blond couldn't be here with him in body, then at least he could think about his partner…..and hope that he was ok.

'We should be a double act partner. Make 'em laugh. Abbot and Costello, Laurel and Hardy. Starsky and Hutch.' Hutch's words echoed around in Starsky's head as the medics worked around him. Someone was talking to him, although he had no inclination to reply.

'David?'

No-one called him David except his Mom and only when she was mad at him. Dave was acceptable. Davey would do at a pinch, but for as long as he could remember he'd been Starsky, plain and simple.

'David, we're going to take you to the OR now. You have a bullet in your back. It's splintered the bone close to your spine and we need to get it out buddy. The doctors are going to do everything they can and we've given you some pain relief. That should be working right now.'

Starsky would have nodded, but the effort was too great. He would also have told them, if his voice had been working, that he felt as though he were floating away and in a way it scared him. He hated not being in control and right now he felt as though he was slipping away, to wherever good little Jewish boys slip. He'd felt the bee sting of a needle in his forearm earlier, and another, sharper pain in the back of his left hand and he guessed they were running some blood into him, but it all seemed so distant. The world was disintegrating into a grey fuzz and with it Starsky's hold on reality.

'We should be a double act…..make 'em laugh…..'

As the gurney started to move, Starsky's mind took him away from the disinfectant smells, the murmurs and barked instructions and the icy cold and clung to his partner's last words.

Hutch's house by the canal was lit up like a Christmas tree, the soft, mellow lights from inside illuminating the white picket fence around the yard. Inside, friends sat around, drinking wine and waiting whilst somewhere out back, in Hutch's bedroom, he was getting ready. Huggy's voice, impressive when he needed it to be suddenly announced "Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls. To answer the many thousands of inquiries as to what Detective David Michael Starsky has been doing in his off time while recovering from his gunshot injury, I now present the latest graduates in the Sammy Grosvenor school of hilarious humour, Starsky and Hutch"

'This is it partner. Are we ready?' Starsky checked himself one last time in the mirror as Hutch stood behind him. The top hat nestled atop brunet curls and balanced precariously, the tail coat was incongruous against the faded blue jeans and white shirt and the cane added to the chaos, especially as it kept getting tangled with the sling supporting his left arm. And yet Dave Starsky had never felt more alive. This was it! This was the beginning of his and Hutch's new career. They'd been offered jobs all over America. Tomorrow night they started their gig on the strip in Vegas, then came New York and finally Washington for the President's birthday bash. They were never going to look back, their police careers a thing of distant memories. Their biggest fan was one Harold Dobey, who had also retired from the police to act as their manager…..and lead groupy.

Behind Starsky, Hutch, dressed in striped jacket and straw boater smiled radiantly, showing a beautiful set of newly capped teeth. In truth, he seemed to look more like a set of piano keys had been inserted into his mouth, but the reward money Vic Monty had generously given for saving his life had been put to good use and Hutch's dentist was happy.

The two men rushed into the living room, Starsky in full cry even as they got through the door. Together they stood facing their audience.

'Hello hello hello. I got a dog with no nose' Starsky intoned.

'Really? How does he smell?' Hutch asked innocently.

'Terrrrrrible.' Starsky looked expectantly at the audience. There was silence but it didn't matter. He ploughed on headlong into the next gag.

'Hello, hello hello. Did you hear about the woman who died taking a milk bath?'

'No, what happened?'

'Cow slipped, fell on her head.' Again there was a rousing chorus of silence and Hutch fumbled uncomfortably with the corner of his jacket. 'Well. Do I hear music?' he asked.

'Music? No, that's just the mice' Starsky replied, still in character

'Mice can't play music, dummy!'

'No? You never heard of a mice….stro?'

By now the audience was looking distinctly ugly and the two wannabe funny men backtracked into Hutch's bedroom to regroup.

'We're knocking 'em dead' Starsky said, knowing that he could still win them around. He started to get changed, stripping off his tail coat. A blue and white striped jacket and a matching straw boater replaced his former costume and as Hutch headed back out, Starsky paused for a moment to look in the mirror. "We're knocking 'em dead Davey boy" he muttered to himself. "We're knocking 'em dead". In his head, he could already hear the screams of laughter from the audience in Vegas. He could feel the President's hand in his at the birthday celebrations, he could see his and Hutch's names up in neon on Broadway and he knew they'd made the right decision. Opening the door to the living room, Starsky bustled through and was already half way through his second routine. The audience were going crazy, they laughed, applauded, screamed for more and he and Hutch took curtain call after curtain call. They loved him….they loved the double act. They were going to be famous…

'David. Open your eyes for me. It's all over now. We need you to open your eyes.'

What the hell was the audience asking for now? They had no right to tell him what to do! 'Autographs later' Starsky mumbled indistinctly and struggled to open his eyes for a brief moment. He felt heavy and lethargic and knew it must be the after effects of the show, but as he looked up he saw bright lights and a pair of concerned eyes, bright above a surgical mask.

'It's all over David. We're going to take you up to your room now' the nurse said quietly.

And with that one sentence, reality kicked in once again, along with pain and a hefty dose of nausea. Dave Starsky was once more in the land of the living.

Bright lights were also piercing through the mist that seemed to have settled over Hutch's eyes. For a moment he thought he was on a beach somewhere. He felt warm and languorous and relaxed and it took all of his willpower to decide to open his eyes. Why should he? He was tired and he deserved a rest! He'd worked overtime and the pillow his head rested on was fluffy and soft, the sheets and blankets cozy. The bed seemed to be wrapping its legs around him and murmuring "don't go Hutch….don't go" and for a moment he considered following its advice.

Then the noises kicked in. There were voices around him, loud enough to wake him and yet far enough away that he didn't feel anyone's presence leaning in on him. Hutch considered for a moment. Just where the hell was he? Where had Theresa gone? And Max Durnat.

Reality kicked in and Hutch sat bolt upright in bed. Starsky! Where the hell was his partner? And more to the point, what was he, Hutch, doing on a hospital bed dressed in borrowed white scrubs with…..what the ff… a drip in the back of his hand!

'Nurse!' Hutch shouted, already pulling at the tape holding the needle in place. 'Nurse! Doc?'

A concerned older woman appeared at the door of his small room. 'Ah, you're awake. Good. How are you feeling now?' She walked into the room and gently pushed Hutch back down onto the bed.

'I'm fine. Where's my partner? Starsky. Dave Starsky. We were in a a a restaurant….a sh shoot….' Hutch took a deep breath, got his thoughts in order and started again. 'My partner and I were involved in a shooting incident down town. He was badly injured. Somehow I've ended up here. Do you know where he is?'

'He's recovering in his room right now. It's just next door Sergeant. Don't you want to know how you are?'

Hutch wrinkled his brow. 'Me? I'm f fine. I mean I f feel f fine. Just a headache and….'

The woman smiled. She was older, but attractive. Handsome rather than pretty and with a distinctly motherly approach to her patients. 'Let's start again, shall we? I'm Elsa Martin, your doctor. You were both brought here to Memorial Hospital about ten hours ago and Sergeant Starsky was taken straight into the OR. He's doing fine, although he's going to be here for a while yet. You, young man, were suffering from shock and the medic at the restaurant had to sedate you. You've been sleeping it off since but other than needing fluids, hence the drip, you'll be fine. Maybe a little shaky for a couple of days, but fine nonetheless.'

'And Starsk? Can I see him?'

'Sergeant Starsky appears to have had the thin edge of the wedge. There was a bullet wound to his left temple which may, or may not result in some minor memory impairment in the short term. He also had the bullet lodged in his left upper back. That's been surgically removed. It damaged some of the bone in his ribs and there was one piece that came perilously close to his spine. The surgeons tell me they've successfully removed it, but out of an abundance of caution he will need to lie flat on his back for the next four or five days.'

'But he'll be ok?' Hutch asked.

'He should be just fine. He lost a vast amount of blood but he would have been far worse if you hadn't been able to care for him during your ordeal. He's going to be weak for a while, but…'

'So can I see him?' Hutch persisted.

'You need your rest too. You've been through a hell of an ordeal' the doctor said doubtfully.

'I'm fine, honest. Or I will be when I see Starsk. Please Doc. I promise I won't disturb him and I'll rest, but I just need to see him huh?'

'I'll get one of the nurses to bring around a wheelchair.'

'I can walk, I'm not an invalid' Hutch muttered, struggling to get off the bed. Elsa held him down with a practiced hand.

'The deal is a wheelchair or nothing' she said sternly, fixing Hutch with a steely eye.

The blond man relaxed marginally. 'If you ever get sick of bein' a doctor, you'd be great in the IA' he muttered. 'Bring on the wheels.'

The doctor grinned and left, leaving Hutch alone with his thoughts. Now that Elsa had explained what had happened, Hutch was beginning to remember those last few minutes back at the restaurant. Starsky had looked so sick; so fragile that he really had thought that the ambulance would get there too late. To have the medic say that his partner was going to be ok was like all Hutch's birthdays had come at once and relief flooded through him making him feel a little light headed. A nurse appeared at the door with a wheelchair and solicitously helped the blond cop into it, hooking Hutch's drip onto the tall stand attached to the frame. She wheeled the impatient man through the door and into the next door room, parking Hutch close to the side of the bed. She patted Hutch's shoulder.

'He's been awake and he's been asking for you. Don't tire him, and don't get tired yourself. He's got a lot of healing to do. Buzz when you want to go back to your room.'

Hutch nodded, not really listening to the words. The room was dim and cool, the blinds pulled down over the window filtering out the bright afternoon sun casting zebra stripes across Starsky's bed. The brunet lay still, a clear drip feeding into the crook of his right elbow whilst another drip fed deep maroon blood into the back of his right hand. The left side of the smaller man's body was swathed in white bandages as his left arm was strapped across his chest, supporting the wound. Starsky's face was still pale, but the blue had gone from his lips and under his eyes and his breathing was easier. Hutch eased himself out of his chair and bent over the bed.

'Starsk?' he whispered.

One eye fluttered open.

'Hey, Starsk.'

The other eye opened too and Starsky looked up into Hutch's face, his eyes fluttering before they focussed.

'Heyyy' he croaked hoarsely.

'Hey yourself. How're ya doin' there partner?'

'Crap. Where's the bad guys? Did we get 'em?'

'We got 'em. Captain Marvel came through in the end. Joey's lying somewhere on a coroner's slab and Durnat has a shoulder wound' Hutch explained.

Starsky's eyelids drooped as he listened to Hutch's voice. Everything was ok again. Hutch had survived the shootout and that was all that mattered. 'Shoulder huh? Just like me' he mumbled and tried to reach for his left shoulder with his right hand. The movement was difficult and clumsy and brought a spasm of pain that creased his forehead and narrowed his eyes. 'Oh Jeez!'

Hutch reached for Starsky's hand and held it down, rubbing small circles on the back of it as the brunet took a faltering, shaky breath. Up until now, Starsky had thought that he'd had maybe a flesh wound, nothing more and he'd convinced himself that he would be up and about in a couple of days. What the hell was this all about?

Hutch was speaking to him, his voice low enough that Starsky had to concentrate on the words and not on his pain. 'Lie still buddy. The Doc says you have to lie still for a while. You got a lot of healing to do.'

Starsky rolled his head on the pillow so that he could see his partner. 'S only a shoulder wound.'

Hutch sighed and leaned more closely on the bed. 'Yeah well. I um….I kinda lied back there.'

The brunet's eyes shot open for a moment. 'Ya did huh?'

'What did you want me to say? "Oh shit Starsky old man, I think you're gonna die?" Somehow that didn't seem to be the right approach.'

'You could've mentioned….'

Hutch snickered. 'So sue me! I didn't lie. I just omitted some of the truth.'

Starsky fixed his buddy with a steely eye. 'How much of the truth?'

'Well…. The bullet splintered a small part of your shoulder blade at the back on its way out. The Doctors cleaned out the wound but there was a mess of bone to deal with. They want you to lie still for a little while just to make sure they um….. Now don't panic about this but…. Well just to make sure there was no damage to your spine.'

'Spine! Fuck! You're a rat, you know that Hutchins….' Starsky's words were cut off by another paroxysm of pain that bowed his spine and had him clutching in mid air for Hutch's hand. Hutch grabbed the hand and with his other pressed the call button and a moment later a nurse appeared at the door.

'He's in a hell of a lot of pain. Can't ya do something?' the blond hissed. The woman nodded and disappeared and Hutch turned his attention back to his partner. 'Breathe buddy. Just breathe through it' he said gently, kicking the wheelchair out of the way so that he could reach Starsky better. Hutch laid a hand in Starsky's right hand and the brunet squeezed hard, panting through the worst of it. As it subsided, his eyes opened again.

'When I get a hold of Durnat I'm gonna rip him limb from limb' he hissed. 'He's gonna wish he'd never even heard of penne pasta and….. Jesus Christ it hurts.'

'I know. They're bringing you something to help. See, the Doc is here now.'

And indeed Elsa was already walking towards the bed, a syringe in her hand. Expertly she expelled the air from the needle and stuck it into the muscle of Starsky's right arm. 'David, this is morphine. It's going make you feel woozy and tired but it's a powerful pain killer and you're going to feel a lot more comfortable. We need you to lay still for a while, at least until the wound from your operation settles down. That means very still, ok? We want you to lay on your back for a few days. If you need anything, the nurses will get it for you, but we don't want anything going wrong, do we?'

Starsky was already feeling the effects of the powerful drug. The pain was already receding. It wasn't gone, but somehow it didn't seem to matter any more. He was cushioned on a cloud of opiates and his eyes were getting heavy. 'Wrong? As in…..?'

'We can discuss all that later. Right now I want you to sleep and recover. There'll be plenty of time for us to talk later. Are you feeling easier?'

Starsky nodded shakily. 'Thanks' he managed to breathe before his eyes fluttered closed and sleep overtook him and his body relaxed back against the mattress. Elsa turned her attention to Hutch.

'And you, young man, should be resting. If you're a good boy, I may let you home at the end of the day.'

Hutch looked past the woman to his partner. Starsky certainly looked a lot more relaxed now that the morphine was working and yet the blond was in no rush to leave his partner's side.

'I'd rather stay here for a while. I won't disturb him.'

Elsa snickered. 'With the amount of drugs washing around in his system right now World War Three wouldn't disturb him! It's you I'm more concerned about.'

Hutch wrinkled his forehead. 'Me? I'm fine.'

'Hmm, who's the doctor here? When you were brought in the medics said you'd been almost catatonic at the restaurant. You were in shock, and whether you believe it or not, you still are. You need rest Ken and if you don't rest voluntarily….' The woman grinned and brandished the empty syringe. 'I have plenty more where this came from.'

Hutch held his hands up in mock surrender. 'Ok, ok. I get the picture. I'll be a good boy and go and sleep. But when he wakes up, will someone come and tell me?'

Elsa ushered Hutch out of the room. 'I promise. Now go and lie down and go to sleep. That's the best thing for you right now. David is going to need some help when he's out and about. It won't do him any good if his best friend is still a shaky wreck