Ping pong, ping pong
The sound reverberated over and over in the brunette's head and had been playing that way for as long as he could think. It annoyed him and distracted him from the thing he wanted to do most, and that was to wake up. The world had suddenly gone dark and fuzzy and he hadn't been able to open his eyes to see what was going on.
The last things Starsky remembered was the stupid game of ping pong he'd been playing with his partner. No, wait. Not stupid. He'd won a three course dinner at a restaurant of his choosing over that so called stupid game! As he'd headed out to the parking lot with Hutch in hot pursuit he'd still been deciding what exactly he was going to eat, and where. Hutch's offer of hamburger, fries and a chocolate shake just didn't cut it and as he put the car keys in the door lock he was imagining lobster, steak, champagne. The works.
Hutch had then shouted for him to get down. He'd tried hard to get his left hand into his jacket to draw his gun, but before he could grab his trusty Smith and Wesson, he had heard a deafening noise, and a cold numbness was suddenly creeping through his body. A chaotic void then replaced the numbness for a moment as his body and mind tried desperately to comprehend what was happening around him.
Starsky vaguely remembered Hutch screaming his name as he hit the ground and he wondered how much it was going to cost to replace the glass in the Torino's windows. Crazy what your mind thinks of when your life's on the line, but for Starsky his life didn't seem to be on the line. He felt sick to his stomach, and confused beyond belief that he couldn't get up and help his partner. There was initially no pain, no feeling of life ebbing away. There was instead a cold, empty feeling and a need to reach out and touch his best friend who was suddenly in front of him…but Hutch didn't come to him…didn't touch him.
The flaxen haired cop seemed to be frozen in place, an indefinable edge in his voice as he said Starsky's name again and again. Starsky wanted to comfort him and tell him that everything was OK, but then he realised it probably wasn't OK when the paramedics came and started working over him. He heard words like "shock", "bleeding out" and "cross match" and suddenly the pain of the foreign metal objects that had passed through his body hit him with a vengeance.
Starsky had no idea how long he'd been lying on the ground but suddenly he was aware of why Hutch sounded so fragile. The pains in his chest and back were crippling. He couldn't breathe properly and the more he tried, the more he seemed to be sucking at nothingness. He tried to tell the people working over him where he hurt, but he couldn't make a sound come from his mouth and there was no way his hands would obey the commands his brain was trying to give them. He knew then that he was well and truly screwed and in his pain and anguish he allowed himself to slip back into a haze of pain and drugs and let the professionals around him do their job. The only thing he was really sorry about was that he couldn't find a way to let Hutch know that he'd fight this all the way.
There was a long period of nothing after that. It was like going under a general anaesthetic where he had no recollection of time or space, although his consciousness levels rose and fell. During his almost waking moments, he was aware of movement around him and sounds. They were unpleasant, annoying sounds for the most part. Beeping and whispers in the darkness that he could barely hear, but that kept him from sleeping peacefully. He had pain, but he somehow knew it was being chemically controlled and was glad for that.
Then during a period of being alone in the room, another pain took over. It was a crushing pain which seemed to Starsky to be like a vice wrapping around his chest and squeezing it until his very world was consumed in an agonised fight to draw in breath. The vice set up a deep thrumming pain in his chest and down his left arm until he felt like he had the worst bout of indigestion in the world and then some. Then suddenly, there was nothing. No pain, no crushing sensation, but more ominously, no heartbeat. Up until that moment, Starsky had never realised that he did, in fact, feel the steady beating of that organ, minute after minute and day after day. It was there in the background, another part of the white noise that made up daily living, and now it was gone. In a final exhausted effort, his heart had decided that enough was enough and that it was time to call it a day. The absence of the beating scared him more than the prospect of dying. He'd known all his life as a cop that one day, a gun might take him out, but he'd hoped it would be later on in his life. He fleeting thought what a waste it would be to go then, when there was still so much he wanted to do.
He'd then thought of Hutch. Oh God, Hutch! He was letting his partner down and there wasn't a damned thing he could do about it. Hutch wasn't there and Starsky needed him. He needed to be able to tell him in some way that he loved him, that he always would, that he'd always cherished working with the blond and being able to call him his friend. He tried hard to think of that blond face, hoping that if this was to be his last thought, it would be a happy one.
He wasn't to be left in peace, though. Suddenly there were nurses and doctors crowding around him. For the first time he was aware somewhere in the nothingness that he had bandages around his middle and felt the cold steel of scissors as they were cut away. There was a feeling of cold on his chest, then a pain too awful to describe. It was like his mind played interference to the drama that was unfolding around him. It was as if he was watching the world on a badly tuned television and for a brief moment he relaxed as he thought he was going to be OK. Then it happened again, another pain, more interference, before a final stabbing jolt went through his chest, a burning sensation and smell and blackness.
All the way through, and in the background like a comfort blanket, Starsky could feel Hutch's presence with him. He felt the blond on an unconscious, almost spiritual level and it gave him a measure of comfort but more importantly, it gave Starsky a burning desire to carry on and make one last titanic effort.
After that things got distinctly more painful as Starsky fought his way back to consciousness. During the next day or so he battled his demons as they came to him. All were painful and many were terrifying. His thoughts were a maelstrom in his head.
Ping pong, ping pong.
He wished he could stop thinking of that sound…thinking of that bloody game, but it was a thread of sanity through the chaos that was his world at that point. He thought of Terry, but her face melted into Rosey's and then into Laurel's before turning more frighteningly into Diana's. In a more crazy moment, he convinced himself that she was his nurse and she'd do to him what she'd done to Hutch months before. He'd felt a hand on his head and had tried to knock it away, but his arms still wouldn't work.
Then unseen hands came to take the trach. tube out of his throat. Subconsciously he knew they didn't think he could feel anything, but the sensation of having the hose ripped from his chest was almost more than he could bear and he could feel tears welling in his eyes, annoying him even more when he knew he could do nothing about them.
He also knew that at times Hutch was there with him. He heard the soft velvety voice of his partner saying over and over again, "I don't know what to do Starsk. What if?"
It held so much pain and anguish. He so desperately wanted to answer that voice, to be there for his flaxen haired partner, to feel the cool hand on his arm, but there was no way he could communicate. His body was too tied up with the healing process to do anything other than lie there like a piece of meat and rile at his confinement.
Hutch went away for a while and his presence was replaced by other familiar presences that he recognised as his long-time friend Huggy and his Captain, Dobey who both sat by and him and talked to him about everyday things. He knew it made them feel better and he was glad he wasn't alone, but he desperately wanted the blond back at his side. He wanted to tell them to shut up just for a moment because he needed to rest, but his voice wouldn't answer his brains desperate commands.
A lifetime later, he heard the voice that he had wanted to hear again. The voice of comfort and reassurance. The voice that made him want to listen. The voice that was his sole reason for fighting at that particular moment. With an enormous battle of will, he opened his eyes a fraction and was blessed with the sight of the big blond excitedly staring at him, wide eyed with what looked like shock. He saw Hutch notice he was awake and if it hadn't hurt so damned much would have laughed out loud at the jig his partner danced with his surprised nurse. He wanted to say something, but his body was still too tired to do anything other than open his eyelids. He so much wanted Hutch to touch him, just to reassure himself that he wasn't going anywhere, but Hutch was too caught up in the euphoria of the moment! So Starsky had had to content himself with listening to his friend's cheers of rapture as he fell back to an exhausted sleep.
Later, he awoke again, with Hutch at his bedside. Starsky felt warm and cosy in the bed and even the flashes of pain from his wounds couldn't stop the inexplicable happy feeling he had to have his partner once more in the room with him.
'Hey buddy, good to see those old blue eyes again' he heard Hutch say, but had hardly the strength to answer him. Instead Starsky gazed into his partner's ice blue eyes, communicating as they sometimes did with looks rather than words. It was then Hutch had moved to one side and Starsky had seen another figure in the room.
For a moment he couldn't believe that she was there with him. His mind went back to a similar time, high up on a mountainside above Sacramento, when he'd woken from a feverish nightmare expecting to see Hutch's blue eyes staring down at him. This time, as then, he saw warm brown concerned eyes, surrounded by a sweet, beautiful heart shaped face.
Laurel moved to the side of his bed and reached up, smoothing a cool, tiny hand across Starsky's forehead as she bent down to kiss it. She smiled down at him, not needing words to express her feelings for this man. She'd nursed him once before from injuries caused when he'd been run off the road. She'd helped him struggle down the mountain to find Hutch, nursing him back to health using her considerable knowledge of herbs and plants, and she had quickly fallen in love with this curly headed hellion whose stubbornness and sheer joie de vivre had set her heart dancing.
As they'd gone back to Sacramento, they'd both reluctantly realised that neither would fit into the other's world and so they had parted a year ago. It was amicable, but heart breaking all the same and now he was here again, as vulnerable as ever, but it wasn't his vulnerability that had caused her to travel the four hundred miles south. It was her love for this dark haired cop and as she looked into his eyes, he gathered all his strength and licked his dry cracked lips.
'I love you' he whispered painfully, as he drifted back to sleep with the shadow of a smile on his handsome face.